A bed of roses

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2008 with funding from

IVIicrosoft Corporation

http://www.archive.org/details/bedofrosesOOgeor

A BED OF ROSES

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Economics and Politics

Engines of Social Progress
France in the Twentieth Century
Labour and Housing at Port Sunlight

A BED OF ROSES

BY

W. L. GEORGE

It's not work that any woman would do for
pleasure, goodness knows ; though to hear
the pious people talk you would suppose
it was a bed of roses.

{Mrs Warren's Profession, by G. Bernard Shaw)

LONDON

FRANK PALMER

Red Lion Court

All Rights He served

/f//

PART I

CHAPTER I

' We go.' The lascar meditatively pressed his face,
brown and begrimed with coal dust, streaked here
and there with sweat, against the rope which formed
the rough bulwark. His dark eyes were fixed on the
shore, near by, between which and the ship's side the
water quivered quicker and quicker in little ripples,
each ripple carrying an irridescent film, of grey ooze.
Without joy or sadness he was bidding goodbye to
Bombay, his city. Those goodbyes are often farewells
for lascars who must face the Bay and the Channel.
But the stoker did not care.

His companion lay by his side, lazily propped up
on his elbow, not deigning even to take a last look
at the market place, seething still with its crowded
reds and blues and golds. ' Dekko ! ' cried the first
stoker pointing to the wharf where a white man in
a dirty smock had just cast off the last rope, which
came away swishing tlii'ough the air.

His companion did not raise his eyes. Slowly he
tilted up his pannikin and let the water flow in
a thin stream into his mouth, keeping the metal away
from his lips. Then, careless of the land of Alvbar,
he let himself sink on the deck and composed himself
to sleep. India was no concern of his.

A few yards away a woman watched them absentlj'
from the upper deck. She was conscious of them,
conscious too of the slow insistent buzzing of a gad-

I

8G0412

2 A BED OF ROSES

fly. Her eyes slowly shifted to tlie shore, passed over
the market place, stopped at the Fort. There, in the
open space, a troop was drilling, white and speckless,
alertly wheeling at the word of command. Her eyes
were still fixed on the group as the ship imperceptibly
receded from the shore, throbbing steadily as the
boilers got up steam. A half-naked brown boy was
racing along the wharf to gain a start and beat the
vessel before she reached the military crane.

The woman turned away. She was neither tall nor
short : she did not attract attention overmuch but she
was one of those who retain such attention as they
draw. She was clad entirely in black ; her face
seemed to start forward intensified. Her features were
regular ; her mouth small. Her skin, darkened by the
shadow of a broad brimmed hat, blushed still darker
at the cheeks. The attraction was all in the eyes,
large and grey, suggestive of energj^ without emotion.
Her cliin was square, perhaps too thick in the jaw.

She turned once more and leant against the bulwark.
A yard away another woman was also standing, her
eyes fixed on the shore, on a figure who waited motion-
less on the fast receding wharf. As the steamer kept
on her course the woman craned forward, saw once
more and then lost sight of the lonely figure. She
was small, fair, a little insignificant, and dressed all
in white drill.

The steamer had by noAv attained half speed. The
shore was streaming by. The second woman turned
her back on the bulwark, looked about aimlessly,
then, XJerceiving her neighbour, impulsively went up
to her and stood close beside her.

The two women did not speak, but remained
watching the shoals fly past. Far away a train in
Kolaba puffed up sharj) bursts of smoke into the blue
air. Tliere was nothing to draw the attention of the
beholder in that interminable shore, low-lying and
muddy, splashed here and there with ragged trees.

A BED OF ROSES 3

It was a desert almost, save for a village built between
two swamps. Here and there smoke arose, brown
and peaty from a bonfire. In the evening light the
Sim's declining raj'S lit np with radiance the red speck
of a heavy shawl on the tiny figure of a brown girl.

Little by little, as the ship entered the fairway, the
shore receded almost into nothingness. The two
women still watched, while India merged into shadow.
It was the second hour and, as the ship slowly turned
towards the west, the women watched the great
cocoanut trees turn into black specks upon Maria
point. Then, slowly, the shore sank into the dark
sea imtil it was gone and nothing was left of India
save the vaguely paler night that tells of land and
the even fainter white spears of the distant light.

For a moment they stood still, side by side. Then
the fair Avoman suddenly put her hand on her com-
panion's arm._ ' I'm cold,' she said, ' let's go below.'

The dark girl looked at her sympathetically. ' Yes,'
she said, 'let's, who'd have thought we wanted to see
more of the beastly country than we could help. . . .
I say, what's the matter, Molly ? '

Molly was still looking towards the light ; one of
her feet tapped the deck nervously ; she fiimbled for
her handkerchief . 'Nothing, nothing,' she said in-
distinctly, 'come and unpack.' She turned away
from her companion and quickly Avalked towards the
gangway.

The dark girl looked once more into the distance
where even the searchlight had weaned. ' Vic ! ' cried
the fair girl querulously, half way up the deck. ' All
right, I'm coming,' replied the woman in black. She
looked again at the pale horizon into which India had
faded, at the deck before her where a little black
cluster of people had formed to look their last upon the
light. Then she turned and followed her companion.

The cabin was on the lower deck, small, stuffy in
the extreme. Its two grave-like bunks, its drop table,

4 A BED OF ROSES

even its exiguous armchair proiiiised no comfort. On
the worn carpet the pattern had ahnost vanished ;
alone the official numerals on the edge stared forth.
For half an hour the two women unpacked in silence ;
Molly knelt by the side of her trunk delving into it,
dragging out garments which she tried to find room
for on the scanty pegs. Her companion merely raised
the lid of her trunk to ease the pressure on her
clothes, and placed a small dressing-case on the drop
table. Once she would have spoken but, at that
moment, a faint sob came fi'om Molly's kneeling form.
She went up to her, put her arm about her neck and
kissed her cheek. She undressed wearily, climbed
into the upper berth. Soon Molly did likewise, after
turning down tlie light. For a while she sighed
and turned uneasily ; then she became quieter, her
breathhig more measured, and she slept.

Victoria Fulton lay in her berth, her eyes wide
open, glued to the roof a foot or so above her face.
It was very like a coffin, she thought, perhaps a suit-
able enough habitation for her, but at present, not in
the least tempting. A salutary capacity for optimism
was enabling her to review the past tlu-ee years and to
speculate about the future. Not that either was very
rosy, especially the future.

The steady throb of the screw pulsated through the
stuffy cabin, and blended with the silence broken only
by Molly's regular breathing in the lower berth.
Victoria could not help remembering other nights
passed also in a stuffy little cabin, where the screw
was throbbing as steadily, and when the silence was
broken by breathing as regidar, but a little heavier.
Three years only, and she was going home. But now
she was leaving h(>liln(l her the high hopes she had
brought with her.

She was no exception to the common rule, and
memories, whether bitter or sweet, had always
bridged for her the gulf between wakefulness and

A BED OF ROSES 5

sleep. And what could be more natural than to recall
those nights, three j-ears ago, Avhen every beat of thai
steady screw was bringing her nearer to the country
where her young husband was, according to his mood,
going to win the V.C., trace the treasure stolen from
a Begum, or become militarj'- member on the Viceroy's
Council? Poor old Dicky, she thought, perhaps it
was as well he did not live to see himself a major, old
and embittered, with all those hopes l^ehind him.

There were no tears in her eyes when she thought
of Fulton. The good old days, the officers' ball at
Lympton when she danced with him half the night,
the rutty lane where they met to sit on a bank of
damp moss smelling of earth and crushed leaves, and
the crumbling little church where she became Fulton's
wife, all that was far away. How dulled it all was too
by those three years during which, in the hot moist
air of the plains, she had seen him degenerate, his
skin lose its freshness, his eyelids pucker and gather
pouches, his tongue grow ever more bitter as he
attempted to still with whiskey the drmikard's chronic
thii-st. She could not even shudder at the thought of
all it had meant for her, at the horror of seeing him
become every day more stupefied, at the savage out-
bursts of the later days, at the last scenes, crude and
physically foul, Tln-ee years had taught her brain
dullness to such scenes as those.

The tragedy of Fulton was a connnon enough thing.
Heat, idleness, temporary affluence, all those things
that do not let a man see that life is blessed only by
the works that enable him to forget it, had played
havoc with him. He had followed up his initial error
of coming into the world at all by marrying a woman
who neither cajoled or coerced liim. With the best of
intentions she had bored him to extinction. His
interest in things became slender ; he drank himself
to death, and not even the ghost of his self lived to
grieve by his bedside.

6 A BED OF ROSES

In spite of everything it had not been a Lad life
in its way, Victoria had been the belle, in spite of
Mrs ]\rajor Dartle and her peroxidised tresses. And
there had been polo (Dicky always would have three
ponies and refused tlii-ee hundred guineas for
Tagrag) and regimental dances and gymkhanas and
what not. Under the sleepy sun these three years
had passed, not like a flash of lightning, but slowly,
dreamily, in the unending routine of marches,
inspections, migrations to and from the hills. The
end had come quickl3\ One day they carried Dick
Fulton all the way from the mess and laid him under
his own verandah. The fourth day he died of
cirrhosis of the liver. Even Mrs Major Dartle who
formally called and lit up the darkened room with
the meretricious glow of her curls hinted that it was a
hapi^y release. The station in general had no doubt
as to the j)erson for whom release had come.

As Victoria lay in the cofiin-like berth she vainly
tried to analyse her feeling for Fulton. The three
years had drawn over her past something like a
veil behind which she could see the dim shapes of
her impressions dancing like ghostly marionettes.
She knew that she had loved him with the discreet
passion of an Englishwoman. He had burst in upon
her ravished soul like the materialised dream of a
schoolgirl ; he had been adorably careless, adorably
rakish. For a whole j^ear all his foibles had been
charms in so far as they made the god more human,
nearer to her. Then, one night, he had returned
home so drunk as to fall prostrate on the tiles of the
verandah and sleep there until next morning. She
had not dared to call the aj'ali or the butler and, as
she could not rouse or lift him, she had left him
lying there under some rugs and mosquito netting.

During the rest of that revolutionaiy night she
had not slept, nor had she found the relief of tears
that is given most women. Hot waves of indignation

A BED OF ROSES 7

flowed over her. Slie Avaiited to get up, to stamp
with rage, to kick the disgraceful thing on the
tiles. She held herself down, however, or perhaps
the tradition of the English counties whispered to
her that anj^thing was preferable to scandal, that
crises must be noiseless. When dawn came and
she at last managed to arouse Fulton by flooding his
head with the contents of the water jug, the hot fit
was gone. She felt cold, too aloof, too far away
from hi]n to hate him, too petrified to reproach him.

Fulton took no notice of the incident. He was
still young and vigorous enough to shake of within
a few hours the effects of the drink. Besides he
seldom mentioned things that affected their relations ;
in the keep of his heart he hid the resentment of a
culprit against the one who has caught him in
the act. He confined his conversation to daily
happenings ; in moments of expansion he talked
of the future. They did not, however, draw nearer
one another ; thus the evolution of their marriage
tended inevitably to draw them apart. Victoria
was no longer angry, but she was frightened because
she had been frightened and she hated the source
of her fear, Fulton, thick skinned as he was, felt
their estrangment keenly. He grew to hate his wife ;
it almost made him wish to hurt her again. So he
absented himself more often, drank more, then died.
His wife was free. So this was fi-eedom. Freedom,
a word to conjure with, thought Victoria, when one
is enslaved and meaning very little when one is free.
She was able to do what she liked and wished to do
nothing. Of course things would smooth themselves
out: they always did, even though the smoothing
process might be lengthy. They must do so, but
how? There were friends of course, and Ted, and
thirty pounds of Consols unless they'd gone down
again, as safe investments are wont to do. She
would have to do some work. Rather funny, but

8 A BED OF ROSES

how jolly to draw your fii-st month's or week's
salary ; everybody said it was a proud moment. Of
com-se it would have to be earned, but that did not
matter: everybody had to earn Avhat they got, she
supposed, and they ought to enjoy doing it. Old
Flynn, the D.C., used to say that work was a re-
munerative occupation you didn't like, but then he
had been twenty years in India.

Molly tm-ned imeasily in her bunk and settled
down again. Victoria's train of thought was broken
and she could not detach her attention from the very
gentle snore that came from the lower berth, a snore
gentle but so insidious that it seemed to dominate
the steady beat of the screw. Through the porthole,
over which now there raced some flecks of spray,
she could see nothing but the blackness of the sky,
a blackness Avhich at times turned to grey whenever
the still inkier sea appeared. The cabin seemed black
and empty, lit up faintly by a white skirt flung on
a chair. Slowly Victoria sank into sleep, conscious
of a half dream of England where so many imknow-
able things must happen.

CH.VPTER II

' No, MoUy, I don't think it's very nice of you,' said
Victoria, ' we've been out four days and I've done
notliing but mope and mope ; it's all veiy well my
being a widow and all tliat : I'm not suggesting
you and I should play hop scotch on deck with the
master gunner, but for four days I've been reading
a three months old Harper's and the memoirs of
Mademoiselle de I don't know what, and . , ,'

' But what have I done ? ' cried Molly.

'I'm bored,' replied Victoria, Avith admirable
detachment, ' and what's more, I don't intend to
go on being bored for another fortnight ; I'm going
on deck to find somebody to amuse me.'

' You can't do that,' said Molly, ' they're washing it.'

' Very well then, I'll go and watch and sing songs
to the men.' Victoria glared at her unoffending
companion, her lips tightening and her jaw growing
ominously squarer.

' But my dear girl,' said Molly, ' I'm awfully sorry.
I didn't know you cared ; come and have a game
of quoits with me and old Cairns. There's a place
behind the companion which I shoidd say nobody
ever does wash.'

Victoria was on the point of answering that she
hated quoits as she never scored and they were
^•eneraUy dirty, but the prospect of returning to the
ancient Harpers was not alluring, so she followed
Molly to the hatchway and climbed up to the upper
deck stiU shining moist and white. Apparently they

lo A BED OF ROSES

•would not have to plaj' behind the companion. Four
men were leaning against the bulwarks, looking out
at nothing, as peojDle do on board ship. Victoria
just had time to notice a very broad flannel-clad
back surmounted by a thick neck, while Molly went
up to the last man and unceremoniously prodded him
in the ribs.

' Wake up Bobby,' she said, ' I'm waiting.'

The men all wheeled round suddenly. The broad
man stepped forward quickly and shook hands with
^lolly. Then he took a critical look at Victoria. The
three young men struggled for an absurd little bag
which Molly always dropped at the right moment.

' How do you do, Mrs Fulton,' said the broad man
stretching out his hand. Victoria took it hesitatingly.

' Don't you remember me ? ' he said. ' ]\Iy name's
Cairns. Major Cairns. You know. Travancores.
Met 3^ou at His Excellency's hop.'

Of course she remembered him. He was so tj^pical.
Anybody could have told his profession and his rank
at sight. He had a broad humorous face, tanned
over fi-eckled pink. Since he left Wellington he had
grown a little in every direction and had become a
large middle aged boy. Victoria took him in at one
look. A square face such as that of Cairns, distinctly
chubby, framing gre}^ blue eyes, was as easily recalled
as forgotten. She took in his forehead, high and
likely to become higher as his hair receded ; his
straight aggressive nose ; his little rough moustache
looking like nothing so much as a ragged strip off an
Irish terrier's back.

While Victoria was wondering what to saj^ MoUj",
detennined to show her that she was not going to
leave her out, had thrust her three henchmen
forward.

' This is Bobby,' she remarked. ' Bobby,' was a
tall young man with a round head, bright brown
eyes full of cheerfulness and hot temper. 'And

A BED OF ROSES n

Captain Alastair . . . and Mr Parker.' Alastair
smiled. Smiles were his method of expression.
Mr Parker bowed rather low and said nothing. He
had at once conceived for Victoria the mixture of
admiration and dislike that a man feels towards a
woman who would not marry him if she knew where
he had been to school.

'I hope,' said Mr Parker slowly, 'that your. . . .'
But he broke off suddenly, realising the mourning
and feeling the ground to be unsafe.

'Mr Parker, Pve been lookingfor you all the morning,'
interjected Molly, with intuition. 'You've promised
to teach me to judge my distance,' and she cleverly
pushed Bobby between Mr Parker and Victoria.
' Come along, and you Bobby, you can pick the rings up.'
' Right 0,' said Bobby readily. She turned towards
the stern followed by the obedient Bobby and
Mv Parker.

Captain Alastair smiled vacuously, made as if ta
follow the trio, realised that it was a false start,
swerved back and finally covered his confusion by
sliding a few yards onwards to tell Mrs Colonel
Lanning that it was blowing up for a squall.

Victoria had watched the little incident with
amused detacliment.

' Who is Mr Parker ? ' she enquired.
' Met him yesterday for the first time,' said Cairns,
'and really I can't say I want to know. Might be
awkward. j\Iust be in the stores or something.
Looks to me like a cross between a mute and a
parson. Bit of a worm, anyhow.'

' Oh, he didn't hurt my feelings,' remarked Victoria ;
' but some men never know what women have got on.'
Cairns looked her over approvingly. Shodfly-looking
mourning. Durzee made of course. But, Lord, what
hands and eyes.

' I daresay not,' he said drily. ' I wish he'd keep
away though. Let's walk up.'

12 A BED OF ROSES

He took a stride or two away from Alastair.
Tictoria followed liim. She was ratlier taken with
his rough simplicity, the comfort of his apparent
obtuseness. So like an uncle, she thought.

' Well, Mrs Fulton,' said Cairns, 'I suppose you're
glad to be here, as usual.'

' As usual ? '

' Yes, as usual ; people are always glad to be on
board. If they're going home, they're going home
and if they're going out they're thinking that it's
going to be full pay instead of half.'

' It hadn't struck me like that,' said Victoria with a
smile, ' though I suppose I am glad to go home.'

' Funny,' said the Major, ' I never found a country
like India to make people want to come to it and to
make them want to get out of it when they were
there. We had a sub once. You should have heard
him on the dead cities. Somewhere south east of
Hyderabad, he said. And native jewellery, and
fakirism, and all that. He's got a liver now and the
last I heard of him was that he put his shoulder out
at polo.'

Victoria looked out over the innnense oily greenness
of the water. Far away on the skyline >a twirling
wreath of smoke showed that some tramp steamer
was passing them unseen. The world was between
them ; they were crawling on one side of the ball and
the tramp on the other, like flies on an orange. Was
that tramp, Bombay bound, carrying more than a
cargo of rolling stock? Perhaps the mate had
forgotten his B.S.A. fittings and was brooding, he
too, over the dead cities, somewhere south-east of
Hyderabad.

' No,' repeated Victoria slowly, ' it hadn't struck me
like that.'

Cairns looked at her curiously. He had heard of
Fulton and knew of the manner of his death. He
could not help thinking that she did not seem to

A BED OF ROSES 13

show many signs of a recent bereavement, but then
she was well rid of Fulton. Of course there were
other things too. Going back as the widoAv of an
Indian officer was all very Avell if you could afford
the luxury, but if you couldn't, well it coiddn't be
much catch. So, being thirty eight or so, he prudently
directed the conversation towards the customary subjects-
discussed on board a trooper : the abominable ac-
commodation and the appalling incompetency of the
government Avitli regard to the catering.

A^ictoria listened to him placidly. His ancient
tittle-tattle had been made familiar to her by thi'ee
years' association with his fellows, and she had
learned that she need not say much, as his one wish
was naturally to revile the authorities and all their
works. But one item interested her.

' After all,' he said, ' I don't see whj^ I should tallv.
I've had enough of it. I'm sending in my papers as
soon as I've settled a small job at Perim. I'll get
back to Aden and shake all that beastly Asiatic
dust off my shoes.'

' Surely,' said Victoria, ' you're not going to leave
the Service ? ' Her intonation implied that she was
urging him not to commit suicide. Some women
must pass twice under the yoke.

' Fed up. Simply fed up with it. Suppose I do
Avaste another twenty years in India or Singapore
or Hong Kong, hoAV much forrarder am I ? They'll
retire me as a colonel or courtesy general and dump
me into an England Avhicli doesn't care a hang about
me with the remains of malaria, no digestion and no
temper. I'll then while aAvay my time watching the
busses pass by from one of the windoAvs of the Rag
and giA-e my daily opinion of the doings of Simla
and the National Congress to men AA^ho Avill only
listen to me so long as I stand them a whisky and
soda.'

'It isn't alluring,' said Victoria, 'but it may not

,4 A BED OF ROSES

be as l3ad as that. You can do marvels in India.
My husband used to say that a man coukl hope for
anything there.'

Cairns suppressed the obvious retort that Fulton's
ideals did not seem to have materialised.

' No,' he said, ' I'm not ambitious. India's steam
rollered all that. When I've done with my job at
Perim, which won't be much more than a couple of
months, I'm going home. Don't know that I'll do
anything in particular. Farm a bit, perhaps, or have
some chambers somewhere near St. James' and dabble
in balloons or motors. Some shooting too. All that
sort of thing.'

' Perhaps you are right,' said Victoria after a
pause. ' I suppose it's as well to do what one likes.
Shall we join the others ? '

CHAPTER III

Life on a trooper is not eventful, Victoria was not
so deeply absorbed in her mourning or in the pallid
literatnre borrowed from Molly as not to notice it.
Thongh she was not what is teraied serious, the
perpetual c[uoits on the ujiper deck in company with
Alastair and his conversation limited by smiles, and
with Mr Parker and his conversation limited by
uneasiness palled about the second game. Bobbj''
too was a cypher. It was his fate to be known as
' Bobby,' a quantity of no importance. He belonged
to the modern school of squires of dames, ever ready
to fetch a handkercliief, to fish when he inwardly
wanted to sleep in a deck chair or to talk when he
had a headache. Such men have their value as tame
cats and Victoria did not avoid his cheery neigh-
bourhood. But he was summed up in the small fact
which she recalled with gentle amusement a long
time after : she had never known his name. For
her, as for the ship's company, he was 'Bobby,'
merely Bobby.

The female section too could detain none but cats
and hens, as Victoria put it. She had moved too
long like a tiny satellite in the orbit of Mrs Colonel
So-and-So to return to the little group which
slumbered all day by the funnel dreaming aloud the
petty happenings of Bombay. The heavy rains at
Chandraga, the simply awful things that had been said
about an A.D.C. and Mrs Bryan, and the scandalous
way in which a Babu had been made a judge,

15

i6 A BED OF ROSES

all this filled her with an extraordinary ^Yeariness.
She felt, in the presence of these remains of her daily
life, as she would when confronted for the third time
with the cold leg of mutton.

True there was Cairns, a man right enough and
jovial in spite of his cynical assumption that nothing
was worth anything. He could i)roduce passing fair
aphorisms, throw doubts on the value of success and
happiness. There was nothing, however, to hold
on to. Victoria had not found in him a teacher or
a helper. He was merely destructive of thought and
epicurean in taste. Convinced that wine, woman
and song were quite valueless things he nevertheless
knew the best Riidesheimer and had an eye for the
droop of Victoria's shoulders.

Cairns obviously liked Victoria. He did not shun
his fellow passengers, for he considered that the
dullest people are the most interesting, yet she could
not help noticing fi'om time to time that his eyes
followed her round. He was a good big man and
she knew that his thick hand, a little swollen and
sunburnt would be a good thing to touch. But there
was in him none of that subtle magnetism that grasps
and holds. He was coarse, perhaps a little vulgar at
heart.

Thus Victoria had roamed aimlesslj^ over the ship,
visiting even the bows where, everlastingly, a lascar
seemed to brood in fixed attitudes as a Budh dreaming
of Nirvana. She often wandered in the troop-deck
filled with the womankind and children of the
non-coms. Without disliking children she could find
no attraction in these poor little faded things bom to
be scorched by the Indian sun. The women too,
mostly yellow and faded, always recalled to her, so
languid and tired were they, commonplace flowers,
marigolds, drooping on their stems. Besides, the
society of the upper deck found a replica on the
troop deck, where is was occasion allj^ a little shi'iller.

A BED OF ROSES 17

There too, slie cf)uld catcli snatches which tohl of
the heavy rains of Chandraga, the goings on of Lance
Corporal Maccaskie's wife and the disgrace of giving
Babu clerks more than fifty rupees a month.

Perpetually the Indian ocean sliimniered by, calm
as the opaque eye of a shark, breaking at times into
innnenso rollers that swelled hardly more than a
woman's breast. And the daj's passed on.

They Avere nearing Aden, though notliing on the
mauve horizon told of the outpost where the filth of
the East begins to overwhelm tlie ugliness of the
West. Victoria and Cairns were leaning on the
starboard bulwark. She was looking Aacuously into
tlie greying sky, conscious that Cairns was watching
her. She felt with extraordinary clearness that he
was gazing as if spellbound at the soft and regular
rise and fall of her skin towards the coarse black
openwork of her bodice. Far away in the twilight
was something long and black-, hardly more than a
line vanishing towards the north.

' Araby,' said Cairns.

Victoria looked more intently. Far away, half
A'eiled by the mists of night, unlit by the evening
star, lay the coast. Araby, the land of manna and
milk — of black-eyed women — of horses that champ
strange bits. Here and there a blackened rock
sprang up from the waste of sand and scrub. Its
utter desolation awakened a sympathetic chord. It
was lonely, as she was lonely. As the night swiftly
rushed into the heavens, she let her arm rest against
that of Cairns. Then his hand closed over hers. It
was warm and hard ; something like a pale light of
companionship struggled through the solitude of her
soul.

They stood cold and silent while the night swallowed
up the coast and all save here and there the foam tip
of a wave. The man had put his aiTa round her and
pressed her to him. She did not resist. The soft

B

i8 A BED OF ROSES

•wind playing in her liair carried a straying lock into
his eyes, half blinding him and making him catch his
breath, so redolent was it, not with the scent of flowers,
but of life, vigorous and rich in its thousand saps.
He drew her closer to him and pressed his lips on
her neck. Victoria did not resist.

From the forepeak swathed in darkness, came the
faint unearthly echoes of the stokers' song. There
were no fourths ; the dominant and the subdominant
were absent. Strangely attuned to the western ear,
the sounds sometimes boomed, sometimes fell to a
whisper. The chant rose like incense into the heavens,
celebrating Durga, protector of the Motherland,
Lakshmi, bowered in the flower that in the water
grows. Cainis had drawn Victoria close against him.
He was stirred and shaken as never before. All
conspired against him, the night, the fancied scents
of Araby, the unresisting woman in his arms who
3'ielded him her lips with the passivity of weariness.
They did not think as they kissed, whether laying the
foundation of regi-et or snatching fi-om the fleeting
hour a moment of thoughtless joy. Again a brass
drum boomed out beyond them, softly as if touched
by velvet hands. It carried the buzzing of bees, the
calls of corncrakes, in every tone the rich scents of
the jungle, where undergrowth rots in black water —
of perfumes that burn before the gods. Then the
night wind arose and swept away the crooning voices.

CHAPTER IV

Victoria stepped out on to tlie platform witn a heart
that bounded and yet shrank. Not even the first
faint coming of the coastline had given her the ahnost
physical shock that she experienced on this bare
platform. Waterloo station lay around her in a pall
of faint yellow mist that grij)ped and wrenched at
her throat. Through the fog a thousand ungainly
shapes of stairs and signals thrust themselves, some
crude in their near blackness, others fainter in the
distance. It might have been a dream scene but for
the uproar that rose around her from the rumble of
London, the voices of a great crowd. Yet all this
violence of life, the darkness, the surge of men and
women, all this told her that she was once more in
the midst of things.

She foimd her belongings mechanically, fumblingly.
She did not realise until then the bitterness that drove
its iron into her soul. Already, when the troopship
had entered the Channel she had felt a cruel pang
when she realised that she must expect nothing and
that nobody would greet her. She had fled from the
circle near the funnel when the talk began to turn
round London and waiting sisters and fathers, round
the Lord Mayor's show, the play, the old fashioned
Christmas. Now, as she struggled through the crowd
that cried out and laughed excitedly and kissed, she
knew her isolation was complete. There was nobody
to meet her. The fog made her eyes smart, so they
fiUed readily with tears.

>9

20 A BED OF ROSES

As she sat in the cab, however, and there flashed
by her like beacons the lights of the stalls in the
Waterloo Koad, the black and greasy pavement sown
with orange peel, she felt her heart beating furiously
with the excitement of home coming. She passed
the Thames flowing silently, swathed in its shroud of
mist. Then the blackness of St James' Park thi'ough
which her cab crawled timidly as if it feared things
that might lurk unknown in the fogbound thickets.

It was still in a state of feverish dreaming that
Victoria entered her room at Curran's Private Hotel,
otherwise known by a humble number in Seymonr
Street. ' Curran's ' is much in favour among Anglo-
Indians, as it is both central and cheap. It has
everything that distinguishes the English hotel which
has grown from a boarding house into a superior
establishment where you may stay at so much a day.
The successful owner had' bought up one after the
other three contiguous houses and had connected them
by means of a conservator}'- where there lived, among
much pampas grass, small ferns in pots shrouded in
pea-green paper and sickly plants to which no name
could be attached as they mostly suggested stewed
lettuce. It was impossible to walk in a straight line
from one end of the coalition of buildings to the other
Avithout climbing and descending steps every one of
which proclaimed the fact that the leases of the houses
would soon fall in. From the three kitchens ascended
three smells of mutton. The three halls were strewn
with bicj'cles, gun cases in their last phase, sticks
decrepit or dandified. The tliree hat racks, all earlj'-
Victorian in their lines, bore a motley cargo. Dusty
bowlers hustled it with heatlier coloured caps and
top hats ; one even bore a pith helmet and a clerical
atrocity.

Queer as Curran's is, it is comfortable enough.
Victoria looked round her room, tiny in length and
breadth, high however with all the dignity that befits

A BED OF ROSES 21

an odd corner left over by the Alctorian builder. It
was distinguislied by its simplicity, for the walls bore
nothing whatever beyond a restrained papering of
broAvnish roses. A small black and gold bed, a
wardrobe with a white handle, a washing stand with
a marble top took up all the space left by the large
tin trunk which contained most of Victoria's worldly
goods. So this, thought Victoria, is the beginning.
She pulled aside the curtain. Before her lay Seymour
Street, where alone an eye of light shone faintly from
the nearest lamp post. Through the fog came the
warning noise of a lorry picking its way. It was
cold, cold, all this, and lonel}^ like an island.

Her meditations were disturbed by the maid who
brought her hot water.

' My name is Carlotta,' said tlie girl, complacently
depositing the can upon the marble topped washstancl.

' Yes ? ' said Victoria. ' You are a foreigner ? '

' Yes. I am Italian. It is foggy,' replied the girl.

Victoria sighed. It was kind of the girl to make
her feel at home, to smile at her with those flashing
teeth so well set in her ugly little brown face. She
went to the washstand and cried out in horror at her
dirt and fog begrimed face, rimmed at the eyes,
furrowed on the left by the course of that tear shed
at Waterloo.

'Tell them downstairs I shan't be ready for half
an hour,' she said ; ' it'll take me about a week to get
quite clean, I should say.'

Carlotta bared her white teeth again and withdrew
gently as a cat, while A-'ictoria courageously drenched
her face and neck. The scents of England, already
conjured up by the fog and the mutton rose at her
still more vividly from the warm water which
inevitably exhales the traditional perfume of hot
painted can.

Her dinner was a small affair but delightful. It
was good to eat and drink once more things to which

22 A BED OF ROSES

she had been accustomed for the first twenty years
of her life. Her depression had vanished ; she was
merely Imngr}- and, like the health}- young animal
she was, longing for a rare cut of roast beef, accom-
panied by the good old English potatoes boiled down
to the consistency of flour and the flavour of nothing.
Her companions were so normal that she could not
help wondering, when her first hunger was sated and
she was confronted with the apple tart of her fathers,
whether she was not in the unchanging old board
residence in Fulham where her mother had stayed
with her whenever she came up to town, excited and
conscious of being on the spree.

Two spinsters of no age discussed the fog. Both
were immaculate and sat rigidly in correct attitudes
facing their plates. Both talked quickly and con-
tinuously in soft but high tones. They passed one
another the salt with the courtesy of abbes taking
pinches of snuff. A young man fi'om the Midlands
explained to the owner of the clerical hat that under
certain circumstances his food would cost him more.
Near bj'' a lieaA-y man solemnly and steadily ate,
wiping at times from his beard drops of gravy and
of sauce, wliilst his faded wife nibbled disconsolately
tiny scraps of crust. These she daintily buttered,
while her four lanky girls nudged and whispered.

Victoria did not stay in the conservatory after the
important meal. As she passed through it, a mist
of weariness gathering before her ej^es, she had a
vision of half a dozen men sleeping in cane chairs,
or studying pink or white evening papers. The
young man from the Midlands had captured another
victim and was once more explaining that under
certain circumstances his food would cost him more.

Victoria seemed to have reached the limits of
physical endurance. She fumbled as she divested
herself of her clothes; she could not even collect
enough energy to wash. All the room seemed filled

A BED OF ROSES 23

with haze. Her tongue clove to her palate. Little
tingles in her eyelids crushed them together over
her pupils. She stumbled into her bed, mechanically
switching off the light by her bedside. In the very
act her arm lost its energy and she sank into a dream-
less sleep.

Next morning she breakfasted with good appetite.
The fog had almost entirely lifted and sunshine soft
as silver was filtering tlirough the windows into the
little dining-room. Its mahoganous ugliness was
almost warmed into charm. The sideboard shone
dully through its covering of coarse net. Even the
stacked cruets remembered the days when they
cunningly blazed in a shop window. A pleasurable
feehng of excitement ran through Victoria's body,
for she was going to discover London, to have
adventures. As she closed the door behind her
with a definite little slam she felt like a buccaneer.

Buccaneering in the Edgware Road, even when it
is bathed in the morning sun, soon falls flat in
November. It came upon Victoria rather as a shock
that her Indian clothing was rather thin. As her
flying visits to town had only left in her mind a
very hazy picture of Regent Street it was quite uncon-
sciously that she entered the emporium opposite. A
frigid young lady sacrificed for her benefit an abomin-
able ^dcuna coat which, she said, fitted A^ictoria like
a glove. Victoria paid the twenty seven and six
with an admirable feeling of recklessness and left
the shop reflecting that she looked the compleat
charwoman.

She turned into Hyde Park, where the gentle wind
was sorrowfully driving the brown and broken leaves
along the rough gravel. The thin tracery of the
trees imaged itself on the road like a giant cobweb.
Victoria looked for a moment towards the south
where the massive buildings rise, towards the east
where a cathedral thrusts into the sky a tower that

24 A BED OF ROSES

suspiciously recalls Avaterworks. She drank in the
cold air Avith a gusto that can be understood by none
save those who have learned to live in the floating
moisture of the plains. She felt young and, in the
sunshine, with her cheeks gaining colour as the wind
whipped them, she looked in her long black coat and
l)road brimmed straw hat, like a quakeress in love.

As she walked down towards the Achilles statue
the early morning panorama of London unfolded
itself before her un-understanding eyes. Girls hurried
by with their satchels towards the typewriting rooms
of the west ; they stole a look at Victoria's face but
quickly turned away from her clothes. Now and then
spruce young clerks walking to the Tube slackened
their pace to look twice into her grey eyes ; one or
two looked back, not so much in the hope of an
adventure, for time could not be snatched for Venus
herself on the way to the office, as to see whether
they could carry away with them the flattery of having
been noticed.

In a sense that first day in London was for Victoria
a day of revelations. Having despatched a telegram
to her brother to announce her arrival she felt that
the day was hers. Ted had not troubled to meet her
either at Southampton or Waterloo : it was not likely
that he had followed the sightings of her ship. The
next day being a Saturday, however, he would
probably come up from the Bedfordshire school
where he proffered Latin to an ungrateful
generation.

Victoria's excursions to London had been so few
that she had but tlie faintest idea of where she was to
go. Knowing, however, that one cannot lose oneself
in London, she walked aimlessly towards the east. It
was a voj-age of discovery, Piccadilly, bathed in the
pale sun, revealed itself as a land where luxury flows
like rivers of milk. Victoria, being a true woman,
could not pass a shop. Thus her progTess was slow,

A BED OF ROSES 25

so slow that when she found herself between the lions
of Trafalgar Square she began to realise that she
wanted her lunch.

The problem of food is cruel for all women wlio
desire more than a bun. They risk either inattention
or over attention, and if they follow other women, they
almost invariably discover the cheap and bad.
Victoria hesitated for a moment on the steps of an
oyster shop, as nervous in the presence of her first
plunge into freedom as a novice at the side door of a
pawnbroker. A man passed by her into the oyster
shop, smoking a pipe. She felt she would never dare
to sit in a room where strange men smoked pipes.
Thus she stood for a moment forlorn on the pavement,
until a memory of the only decent grill in town,
according to Bobby, passed through her mind.

A policeman sent her by bus to the New Gaiety,
patronised by Bobby and his cronies. As Victoria
went down the interminable underground staircase,
and especially as she entered the enoimous room
where paper, carpets, and plate alwaj^s seem new, her
courage almost failed her. Indeed she looked round
anxiously, half hoping that the anonymous Bobby
might be revisiting his old haunts. But she was
quite alone, and it was only by reminding herself that
she must always be aloue at meals now that she
coerced herself into sitting down. She got through
her meal with expedition. She felt frightfully small ;
the waiters were painfully courteous ; a man laid
aside his orange coloured newspaper, and embarrassed
her with frequent side glances. She braced herself
up however. ' I am training,' was her uppermost
thought. She then wondered whether she ought to
have come to the New C4aiety at all. Fortunately it
was only at the veiy end of her lunch that Victoria
realised she was the onh- woman sitting alone. After
this discovery her nerve failed her. She got up
hurriedly, and, in her confusion, omitted to tip the

26 A BED OF ROSES

waiter. At the desk the last stone was heaped on the
cairn of her discomfiture when the cashier politely
returned to her a quarter rupee which she had given
her thinking it was sixpence.

With a sigh of satisfaction Victoria resumed her
walk through London. She was a little tired already
but she could think of nothing to do, nowhere to go
to. She did not want to return to Curran's to sit in
her box-like room, or to look at the two spinsters
availing themselves of their holiday in town to play
patience in the conservatory.

All the afternoon, therefore, Victoria saw the sights.
Covent Garden repelled her by the massiA^eness of its
food suggestion, and especially by the choking dirt of
its lanes. After Covent Garden, Savoy court yard
and its announcements of intellectual plaj^s by
unknown women. Then once more, drawn by its
spaciousness guessed at through Spring Gardens,
Victoria walked into Saint James's Park. She rested
awhile upon a seat, watching the waterfowl strut and
plimie themselves, the pelicans flounder heavily in
the mud. She was tired. The sun was setting early.
The magic slowly faded from London ; Buckingham
Palace lost the fictitious grace that it has when
set in a bhie sk}^. Victoria shivered a little. She
felt tired. She did not know where to go. She was
alone. On the seat nearest to hers two lovers sat
together, hand in hand. The man's face was almost
hidden by his cap and by the blue puffs of his pipe ;
the girl's was averted towards the ground where,
with the ferule of her umbrella, she lazily drew signs.
There was no bitterness in this sight for Victoria.
Her romance had come and gone so long ago that she
looked quite casually at these wanderers in Arcadia.
She only knew that she was alone and cold.

Victoria got up and walked out of the park. It was
darkening, and little by little the lights of London
were springing into life. By dint of many question-

A BED OF ROSES 27

ings she managed to regain Oxford Street, that spinal
column of London without which the stranger would
be lost. Then her course was easy, and it was with
a peculiar feeling of luxuriousness that she lesigned
herself to the motor bus that jolted and shook her
tired body until she reached the Arch. More slowly,
and with diminished optimism she found her way up
Edgware Road where night was now falling. The
emporium was dazzling with lights. Alone the
public house rivalled it and thrust its glare through,
the settling mist. Victoria closed the door of
Curran's. At once she re-entered its atmosphere ;
into the warm air rose the three smells of three legs
of mutton.

CHAPrER V

' Mr Wren, ma'am.'

Victoria turned quickly to Carlotta. The girl's
face was obtrusively demm-e. Some years at Curran's
had not dulled in her the interest that any ^Yoman
subtly feels in the meeting of the sexes.

' Ask him to come in here, Carlotta,' said Victoria.
' We shan't be disturbed, shall we ? '

' Oh no ! ma'am,' said Carlotta, with increasing
demureness. ' There is nobody, nobody. I will
show the young gentleman in.'

Victoria walked to the looking-glass which shyly
peeped out from the back of the monumental side-
board. She re-arranged her hair and hurriedly
flicked some dust from the corners of her eyes. All
this for Edward, but she had not seen him for three
3'ears. As she turned round she was confronted by
her brother who had gently stolen into the dining-
room. Edward's every movement was unobtrusive.
He put one arm round her and kissed her cheek.

'How are you, Victoria?' he said, looking her in
the eyes.

' Oh, I'm all right, Ted. I'm so glad to see j'ou.'
She was genuinely glad ; it was so good to have
belongings once again.

' Did you have a good passage ? ' asked Edward.

' Pretty good until we got to Ushant and then it
did blow. I was so glad to get home.'

' I'm very glad to see you,' said Edward, ' very
glad.' His eyes fixed on the sideboard as if he were

s8

A BED OF ROSES 29

mesmerised b}^ tlie cruets. Victoria looked at liim
critically. Three years had not made on him the
smallest impression. He was at twenty-eight what
he had been at twenty-five or for the matter of that
at eighteen. He was a tall slim figm-e with narrow
pointed shoulders and a slightly bowed back. His
face was pale without being unhealthy. There was
nothing in his countenance to arouse any particular
interest, for he had those average features that
commit no man either to coarseness or to intellectu-
ality. He showed no trace of the massiveness of his
sister's chin ; his mouth too was looser and hung a
little open. Alone his eyes, riclily grey, recalled his
relationship. Straggly fair hair fell across the left
side of his forehead. He peered through silver
]-immed spectacles as he nervously worried his watch
chain with both hands. Every movement exposed
the sharpness of liis knees through his worn
trousers.

' Ted,' said Victoria, breaking in upon the silence,
' it was kind of you to come up at once.'

' Of course I'd come up at once. I couldn't leave
you here alone. It must be a big change after the
simshine.'

' Yes,' said Victoria, slowly, 'it is a big change.
Not only the sunshine. Other things, you know.'

Edward's hands played still more nervously with
his watch chain. He had not heard much of the
manner of Fulton's death. Victoria's serious face
encouraged him to believe that she might harrow
him with details, weep even. He feared any ex-
pression of feeling, not because he was hard but
because it was so difficult to know what to say. He
was neither hard nor soft ; he was a schoolmaster
and could deal readily enough with the pangs of
Andromeda but what should he say to a live woman,
his sister too ?

' I understand — I — you see, it's quite awful about

30 A BED OF ROSES

Dick — ' lie stopped, lost, groping for the proper
sentiment.

' Ted,' said Victoria, ' don't condole with me. I
don't want to be unkind — if you knew everything —
But there, I'd rather not tell you ; poor Dicky's
dead and I suppose it's ^^Tong, but I can't be
sorry.'

Edward looked at her with some disapproval. The
marriage had not been a success, he knew that much,
but she ought not to speak like that. He felt he
ought to reprove her, but the difficulty of finding
words stopped him.

' Have you made any plans ? ' he asked in his
embarrassment, thus blundering into the subject he
had intended to lead up to with infinite tact.

'Plans?' said Victoria, 'Well, not exactly. Of
course 1 shall have to work ; I thought you might
help me perhaps.'

Edward looked at her again uneasily. She had
sat down in an armchair by the side of the fire "with
her back to the light. In the penumbra her eyes
came out like dark pools. A curl rippled over one
of her ears. She looked so self-possessed that his
embarrassment increased.

' Will you have to work? ' he asked. The idea of
his sister working filled him with A^ague annoj-ance.

' I don't quite see how I can help it,' said Victoria
smiling. ' You see, I've got nothing, absolutely
nothing. When I've spent the thirty pounds or so
I've got, I must either earn my own living or go into
the workhouse.' She spoke lightly, but she was con-
scious of a peculiar sinking.

' I thought you might come back with me,' said
Edward, ' . . . and stay with me a little . . . and
look round.'

' Ted, it's awfully kind of you, but I'm not going to
let you saddle yourself with me. I can't be your house-
keeper ; oh ! it would never do. And don't you think

A BED OF ROSES 31

I am more likely to get something to do here than
down in Bedfordshire ? '

' I do want you to come hack with me,' said Edward
hesitatingly, 'I don't think you ought to be alone
here. And perhaps I could find you something in a
family at Cray or thereabouts. I could ask the vicar.'

Victoria shuddered. It had never struck her that
employment might be difficult to find or imcongenial
when one found it. The words ' vicar ' and ' Cray '
suggested something like domestic service without
its rights, gentility without its privileges.

' Ted,' she said gravely, ' you're awfully good to
me, but I'd rather stay here. I'm sure I could find
something to do.' Edward's thoughts naturally came
back to his own profession.

'I'U ask the Head,' he said with the first flash of
animation he had shown since he entered the room.
To ask the Head was to go to the source of all know-
ledge. ' Perhaps he knows a school. Of course
your French is pretty good, isn't it ? '

' Ted, Ted, you do forget things,' said Victoria,
laughing. ' Don't you remember the mater insisting
on my taking German because so few girls did ?
Why, it was the only original thing she ever did in
her life, poor dear ! '

' But nobody wants German, for girls that is,'
replied Edward miserably.

' Very well then,' said Victoria, ' I won't teach ;
that's all. I must do something else.'

Edward walked up and down nervously, pushing
back his thin fair hair with one hand, and with the
other nervously tugging at his watch chain.

* Don't wony yourself, Ted,' said Victoria. * Some-
thing will turn up. Besides there's no hurry. Why,
I can live two or three months on mv monev,
can't I?'

' 1 suppose you can,' said Edward gloomily, ' but
what will 3' ou do afterwards ? '

32 A BED OF ROSES

' Earn some more,' said Victoria. ' Now Ted, you
haven't seen me for three years. Doii't let us worry.
Think things over when you get back to Cray and
write to me. You won't go back until to-morrow,
will you ? '

'I'm sorry,' said Edward, 'but I didn't think joud
be back this week. I shall be in charge to-morrow.
Why don't you come down ? '

' Ted, Ted, how can you suggest that I should
spend my poor little fortune in railway fares ! Well,
if you can't staj^-, you can't. But I'll tell you what
you can do. I can't go on paying two and a half
guineas a week here ; I must get some rooms. You
lived here when you taught at that school in the city,
didn't you ? Well then, you must know all about it :
we'll go house-himting.'

Edward looked at her dubiously. He disliked the
idea of Victoria in rooms almost as much as Victoria at
Curran's. It offended some vague notions of propriety.
However her suggestion would give him time to think.
Perhaps she was right.

* Of course, I'll be glad to help,' he said, ' I don't
know much about it ; I used to live in Gower Street.'
A faint flush of reminiscent excitement rose to his
cheeks. Gower Street, bj^ the side of Cray and
Lympton, had been almost adventurous.

' Very well then,' said Victoria, ' we shall go to
Gower Street first. Just wait till I put on my hat.'

She ran upstairs, not exactly light of heart, but
pleased with the idea of house-hunting. There's
romance in all seeking, even if the treasure is to be
found in a Bloomsbury lodging-house.

The ride on the top of the motor bus was ex-
liilarating. The pale sun of November was lighting
up the streets with the almost mystic whiteness of the
footlights. Edward said nothing, for his memories
of London were stale and he did not feel secure
enough to point out the Church of the Deaf and

A BED OF ROSES 33

Dumb, nor bad he ever known his London well
enough to be able to pronounce judgment on the
shops. Besides Victoria was too much absorbed in
gazing at London rolling and swirling beneath her,
belching out its crowds of workers and pleasure
seekers from every tube and main street. At every
shop the omnibus seemed surrounded by a swarm of
angry bees. Victoria watched them struggle with
spirit still unspoiled, wondering at the determination
on the faces of the men, at the bitterness painted on
the sharp features of the women as they savagely
thrust one another aside and, dishevelled and dusty,
successively conquered their seats. All this, the
constant surge of horse and mechanical conveyances,
the shrill cries of the newsboys flashing pink papers
like chidos at an angry bull, the roar of the town, made
Victoria understand the city. Something like fear
of this strong restless people crept into her as she
began to have a dim perception that she too would
have to fight. She was young, however, and the
feeling was not unpleasant. Her nerves tingled a
little as she thought of the struggle to come and the
inevitable victory at the end.

A'ictoria's spirits had not subsided even when she
entered Gower Street. Its immensity, its intermin-
able length frightened her a little. The contrast
between it, so quiet, dignified and dull, and the
inferno she had just left behind her impressed her
with a sense of security. Its houses, however, seemed
so high and dirty that she wondered, looking at its
thousand windows, whether human beings could be
cooped up thus and yet retain their humanity.

Here Edward was a little more in his element.
With a degree of animation he pointed to the staid
beauty of Bedford Square. He demanded admiration
like a native guiding a stranger in his own town.
Victoria watched him curiously. He Avas a good
feUow but it was odd to hear him raise his voice and

34 A BED OF ROSES

to see him point with his stick. He had always been
quiet, so she had not expected him to sliow as much
interest as he did in his okl surroundings.

' I suppose you had a good time Avhen you were
here ? ' she said.

'Nothing speciah I was too busy at the school,'
he replied. ' But, of course, you know, one does
things in London. It's not very lively at Cray.'

'Wouldn't you like to leave Cray,' she said, 'and
come back ? '

Edward paused nervously. London frightened him
a little and the idea of leaving Cray suddenly tlirust
upon him froze him to the bone. It was not Cray he
loved, but Cra}^ meant a life passing gently away by
the side of a few beloved books. Though he had never
realised that hedgerows flower in the spring and that
trees redden to gold and copper in the autumn, the
countr}'' had taken upon him so great a hold that even
the thought of leaving it was pain.

' Oh ! no,' he said hurriedly. ' I couldn't leave
Cray. I couldn't live here, it's too noisy. There are
my old rooms, there, the house with the torch
extinguishers.'

Victoria looked at him again. What curious tricks
does nature play and how strangely she pleases to
distort her own work ! Then she looked at the house
with the extinguishers. Clearly it would be impos-
sible, but for those aristocratic remains, to distinguish
it from among half a dozen of its fellows. It was
a house, that was all. It was faced in dirty brick,
parted at every floor by stone work. A portico,
rising over six stone steps, protected a door painted
brown and bearing a brass knocker. It had windows,
an area, bells. It was impossible to find in it an
individual detail to remember.

But Edward was talking almost excitedly for him.
'See there,' he said, ' those are my old rooms,' pointing
indefinitely at the frontage. ' They were cjuite decent,

A BED OF ROSES 35

you know. Wonder whetlier they're let. You could
have them.' He looked almost sentimentally at the
home of the Wrens.

' Why not ring and ask ? ' said Victoria, whose
resourcefulness equalled that of Mr Dick.

Edward took another loving look at the familiar
window, strode up the stej)s, followed by Victoria.
There were several bells. ' Curious,' he said, ' she
must have let it out in floors ; Wakefield and Grindlay,
don't know them. Seymour? It's Mrs Brumfit's
house : Oh ! here it is.' He pressed a bell marked
* House.' Victoria heard with a ciu'ious sensation of
unexpectness the sudden sluill sound of the electric
bell.

After an interminable interval, during which
Edward's hands nervously played, the door opened.
A young girl stood on the threshold. She wore a
red cloth blouse, a black skirt and an unspeakabl}^
dirty apron half loose round her waist. Her hair
was tightly done up in curlers in expectation of
Sunday.

' Mrs Brumfit,' said Edward, ' is she in ? '

"oo ? ' said the girl.

'Mrs Brumfit, the landlady,' said Edward.

' Don't know 'er, try next 'ouse.' The girl tried to
shut the door.

'You don't understand,' cried Edward, stopping
the door with his hand. ' I used to live here.'

' Well, wot do yer want ? ' replied the girl. ' Can't
'elp that, can I? There ain't no Mrs Brumfit 'ere.
Only them there.' She pointed at the bells. 'No-
body but them and mother. She's the 'ousekeeper.
If yer mean the old woman as was 'ere when they
turned the 'ouse into flats, she's dead.'

Edward stepped back. The girl shut the door
with a slam. He stood as if petrified. A^ictoria
looked at him with amusement in her eyes, listening
to the echoes of the girl's voice singing more and

36 A BED OF ROSES

more faintly some catchy tune as she descended into
the basement.

' Dead,' said Edward, ' can it be possible — ' He
looked like a plant torn up by the roots. He had
jumped on the old ground and it had given way.

' My dear Ted,' said Victoria gently, ' things change,
you see.' Slowly thej^ went down the steps of the
house. Victoria did not speak, for a strange mixture
of pity and disdain was in her. She quite under-
stood that a tie had been severed and that the death
of his old landlady meant for Edward that the past
which he had vaguely loved had died with her. He
was one of those amorphous creatures whose life is
so interwoven with that of their fellows that any
deatli throws it into disarray. She let him brood over
his lost memories until the}^ reached Bedford Square.

' But Ted,' she broke in, ' where am I to go ? '

Edward looked at her as if dazed. Clearly he had
not foreseen that Mrs Brumfit was not an institution.

' Go ? ' he said, ' I don't know.'

'Don't you know any other lodgings?' asked
Victoria. ' Gower Street seems full of them.'

' Oh ! no,' said Edward quickly, ' we don't know
what sort of places they are. You couldn't go there.'

' But where am I to go then ? ' Victoria persisted.
Edward was silent. ' It seems to me,' his sister went
on, ' that I shall have to risk it. After all, they won't
murder me and they can't rob me of much.'

' Please don't talk like that,' said lEdward stiffly.
He did not like this association of ideas.

' Well 1 must find some lodgings,' said Victoria,
a little irritably. ' In that case I may as weU look
round near Curran's. I don't like this street much.'

In default of an alternative, Edward looked sulky.
Victoria felt remorseful ; she knew that Gower
Street must have become for her brother the
traveller's Mecca and that he was vaguely afraid of
the West End.

A BED OF ROSES 37

'Never mind, dear,' slie went on more gently,
* don't wony about lodgings any more. Do you know
wliat you're going to clo ? you're going to take me to
tea in some nice place and then I'll go M^ith you to
St Pancras ; that's the station you said you were
going back by, isn't it ? and you'll put me in a bus
and I'll go home. Now, come along, it's past five
and I'm d^'ing for some tea.'

As Victoria stood, an hour later, just outside the
station in which expires the spirit of Constantine the
Great, she could not help feeling relieved. As she
stood there, so self-possessed, seeing so clearly the
busy world, she wondered why she had been given
a broken reed to lean upon. Where had her brother
left his virility? Had it been sapped by years of
self-restraint ? Had the formidable code of pretence,
the daily affectation of dignity, the perj^etual giving
of good examples, reduced him to this slired of
humanity, so timid, so resourceless ? As she sped
home in the tube into which she had been directed
by a policeman, she vainly turned over the problem.

FoTtimately Victoria was young. As she laid her
head on the pillow, conscious of the coming of Sunday,
when nothing could be done, visions of things she
could do obsessed her. There were lodgings to find,
nice, clean, cheap lodgings, with a dear old landlady
and trees outside the window, in a pretty old-fashioned
house, veiy very quiet and quite near aU the tubes.
She nursed the ideal for a time. Then she thought
of careers. She would read all the advertisements
and pick out the nicest work. Perhaps she could be
a housekeeper. Or a secretary. On reflection, a
secretaiy would be better. It might be so interesting.
Fancy being secretary to a member of Parliament.
Or to a famous author.

She too might write.

Her dreams were pleasant.

CHAPTER VI

A WEEK had elapsed and Victoria was beginning to
feel the strain. She looked out from the window
into the little street where fine rain fell gently as
if it had decided to do so for ever. It was deserted,
save by a cat who shivered and crouched under the
archway of a mews. Sometimes a horse stirred.
Through the open window the hot alcaline smell
of the animals filtered slowly.

Victoria had found her lodgings. They were not
quite the ideal, but she had not seen the ideal and this
little den in Portsea Place was not without its charms.
Her room, for the 'rooms' had turned from the
plural into the singular, was comfortable enough.
It occupied the front of the second floor in a small
house. It had tw^o windows, from which, by craning
out a little, the trees of Connaught vSquare could be
seen standing out like black skeletons against a white
house. Opposite w^as the archway of the mews out
of which came most of the trafllc of the street. Under
it too was the mart where the landladies who have
invaded the little street exchange notes on their
lodgers and boast of their ailments.

Victoria inspected her domain. She had a very
big bed, a little inclined to creak ; she had a table
on a pedestal split so cunningly at the base that she
was always table-conscious when she sat by it ; she
had a mahogany wash-stand, also on the triangular
pedestal loved by the pre-]\Iorrisites, enriched by a
white marble top and splasher. A large armchair,

^8

A BED OF ROSES 39

smooth and rather treacherous, a small mahogany
chest of drawers, ever^^ drawer of which took a
minute to pull out, some chairs of no importance,
completed her furniture. The carpet had been of
all colours and was now of none. The tablecloth was
blue serge and would have been serviceable if it had
not contracted the habit of sliding off the mahogany
table whenever it was touched. Ugly as it was in
every detail, Victoria could not help thinking the
room comfortable ; its light paper saved it and it was
not over-loaded with pictures. It had escaped with
one text and 'The Sailor's Homecoming.' Besides it
was restrained in colour and solid : it was comfortable
like roast beef and boiled potatoes.

Victoria looked at all these things, at her few
scattered books, the picture of Dick and of a group of
school friends, at some of her boots piled in a corner.
Then she listened and heard nothing. Once more
she was struck by the emptiness, the darkness around
her. She was alone. She had been alone a whole
week, hardly knowing what to do. The excitement
of choosing lodgings over, she had found time hang
heavy on her hands. She had interminably walked
in London, gazed at shop windows, read hundreds of
imbecile picture postcards on bookstalls, gone con-
tinually to many places in omnibuses. She had
stumbled upon South Kensington and wandered in
its catacombs of stone and brick. She had discovered
Hampstead, lost herself horribly near Albany Street ;
she had even unexpectedly landed in the City where
rushing mobs had hustled and battered her.

Faithful to her resolve she had sedulously read the
morning papers and applied for several posts as
housekeeper without receiving any answers. She
had realised that answering advertisements must be
an art and had become quite conscious that employ-
ment was not so easy to find as slie thought. Nobody
seemed to want secretaries, except the limited

40 A BED OF ROSES

companies, about which slie was not quite clear. As
these mostly required the investment of a hundred
pounds or more she had not followed them up.

She paced up and down in lier room. The after-
noon was wearing. Soon the man downstairs would
come back and slam the door. A little later the ii

young lady in the City would gently enter the room j|

behind hers and, after washing in an unobtrusive
manner, would discreetly leave for an hour. Mean-
while nothing broke the silence, except the postman's
knock coming nearer and nearer along Portsea Place.
It fell unheeded even on her own front door, for
Victoria's ears were already attuned to the sound. It
meant nothing.

She walked up and down nervously. She looked
at herseK in the glass. She was pretty she thought,
with her creamy skin and thick hair ; her eyes too
^vere good ; what a pity her chin was so thick. That's
whv Dicky used to call her ' Towzer.' Poor old
Dicky !

vShuffling footsteps rose up the stairs. Then a j|

knock. At Victoria's invitation, a woman entered. '

It was Mrs Bell, the landlady.

' Why, ma'am, you're sitting in the dark ! Let me
light the lamp,' cried Mrs Bell, producing a large
wooden box from a capacious front pocket. She lit
the lamp and a yeUow glow filled the room, except
the comers which remained in darkness.

'Here's a letter for you, ma'am,' said Mrs Bell
holding it out. As Victoria took it, Mrs Bell beamed
on her approvingly. She liked her new lodger. She
had already informed the gathering under the arch-
way that she was a real lady. She had a leaning for
real ladies, having been a parloiirmaid previous to
maiTying a butler and eking out his incom.e by
letting rooms.

' Thank j'ou, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria, 'it was kind
of you to come up.'

A BED OF ROSES 41

' Oil ! ma'am, no trouble I can assure you,' said
Mrs Bell, with a mixture of respect and patronage.
She wanted to be kind to her lodger, but she found
a difficulty in being kind to so real a lady.

A^ictoria saw the letter was from Edward and opened
it hurriedly. Mrs Bell hesitated, looking with her
black dress, clean face and grey hair, the picture of
the resjDectable maid. Then she turned and struggled
out on her worn shoes, the one blot on her neatness.
Victoria read the letter, bending perilously over the
lamp which smoked like a fmmel. The letter was
quite short ; it ran :

My dear Victoria, — I am sorry I could not write
before now but I wanted to have some news to give
you. I am glad to say that I have been able to
interest the vicar on your behalf. He informs me that
if you will call at once on Lady Rockham, 7a Queen's
Gate, South Kensington, S.W., she may be in a
position to find you a post in a family of standing.
He tells me that she is most capable and kind. He
is writing to her. I shall come to London and see you
soon.— Yours affectionateh^,

* Edward.'

Victoria fingered the letter lovingly. Perhaps she
was going to have a chance after all. It was good to
have something to do. Indeed it seemed almost too
good to be true ; she had vaguely resigned herself to
unemployment. Of course something would ulti-
mately turn up, but the what and when and how
thereof were dangerously dim. She hardly cared to
face these ideas ; indeed she dismissed them when
they occurred to her with a mixture of depression and
optimism. Now, however, she was buoyant again.
The family of standing would probably pay well and
demand little. It would mean the theatres, the shops,
flowers, the latest novels, no end of nice things. A
little work too, of course, driving in the Park with a
dear dowager with the most loveh^ white hair.

42 A BED OF ROSES

She ate an excellent and comparatively expensive
dinner in an Oxford Street restaurant and went to
bed early for the express purpose of making plans
until she fell asleep. She was still buoyant in the
morning. Connaught Square looked its best and
even South Kensington's stony face melted into
smiles when it caught sight of her. Lady Rockham's
Avas a mighty house, the very house for a family of
standing.

Victoria walked up the four steep steps of the house
where something of her fate was to be decided. She
hesitated for an instant and then, being healthily
inclined to take plunges, pulled the bell with a little
more vigour than was in her heart. It echoed
tremendously. The quietude of Queen's Gate
stretching apparently for miles towards the south,
increased the terrifying noise. Victoria's anticipa-
tions were half pleasurable, half fearsome ; she felt
on the brink of an adventure and recalled the tremor
with which she had entered the New Gaiety for the
first time. J\Ieasured steps came nearer and nearer
from the inside of the house ; a shape silhouetted
itself vaguely on the stained glass of the door.

She mustered sufficient coolness to tell the butler
that she wished to see Lady Rockham who was
probably expecting her. As the large and solid man
l)receded her along an interminable hall, she felt
rather than saw the thick Persian rug stretching
along the cnide mosaic of tlie floor, the red paper on
tlie walls almost entirely hidden by exceedingly large
and new pictures. Over her head a ponderous iron
chandelier carrying many electric lamps blotted out
most of the staircase.

For some minutes she waited in the dining-room
into which she had been shown, for the butler was not
at all certain, from a look at the visitor's mourning,
that she was quite entitled to the boudoir. Victoria's
square chin and steady eyes saved her, however, from

A BED OF ROSES 43

having to accomodate her spine to the exceeding
perpendicularity of the high-backed chairs in the hall.
The dining-room, ridiculous thought, reminded her of
Cm-ran's. In every particular it seemed the same.
There was the large table with the thick cloth of
indefinite design and colour. The sideboard too was
there, larger and richer perhaps, of Spanish mahogany
not an inch of which was left hare of garlands of
flowers or archangelic faces. It carried Curran's
looking-glass ; Curran's cruets were replaced by a
number of cups which proclaimed that Charles
Rockham had once won the Junior Sculls, and more
recently, the spring handicap of the Kidderwick Golf
Club. The walls were red as in the hall and pro-
fusely decorated with large pictures representing
various generations having tea in old English gardens,
decorously garbed Roman ladies basking by the side
of marble basins and such like subjects. Twelve
chairs, all high backed and heavily groined, were
ranged round the walls, Avitli the exception of a large
carving chair, standing at the head of the table,
awaiting one who was clearly the head of a household.
Victoria was looking pensively at the large black
marble clock representing the temple in which the
Lares and Penates of South Kensington usually dwell,
when the door opened and a vigorous rustle entered •
the room.

' I am very glad to see you, Mrs Fulton,' remarked
the owner of the rustle. ' I have just received a
letter from Mr Meaker, the vicar of Cray. A most
excellent man. I am sure we can do something for
you. Something quite nice.'

Victoria looked at Lady Rockham with shyness and
surprise. Never had she seen anything so majestic.
Lady Rockham had but lately attained her ladyhood
by marrying a knight bachelor whose name was a
household word in the wood-paving world. She felt
at peace with the universe. Her large silk-clad

44 A BED OF ROSES

person was redolent with content. Slie did not
vulgarly beam. She merely was. On her capacious
bosom large brooches rose and fell rhythmically.
Her face was round and smooth as her voice. Her
eyes were almost severel}^ healthy.

' I am sure it's very kind of you,' said Victoria.
^I don't know anybody in London, you see.'

' That will not matter ; that will not matter at all,'
said Lady Rockham. 'Some people prefer those
whose connections live in the country, yes, absolutely
prefer them. Why, friends come to me every day,
and they are clamouring for country girls, absolutely
clamoui'ing. I do hope you are not too particular.
For things are difficult in London. So very
difficult.'

'Yes, I know,' murmured Victoria, thinking of her
unanswered applications. ' But I'm not particular at
all. If you can find me anything to do, Lady
Rockham, I should be so grateful.'

' Of course, of course. Now let me see. A young
friend of mine has just started a poultry farm in
Dorset. She is doing ver^^ well. Oh ! very well. Of
course you want a little capital. But such a very
nice occupation for a j^'oung woman. The capital is
often the difficulty. Perhaps you would not be pre-
pared to invest much ? '

'No, I'm afraid I couldn't,' faltered Victoria,
wondering at what figure capital began.

'No, no, quite right,' purred Lady Rockham, 'I
can see you are quite sensible. It is a little risky too.
Yet my young friend is doing well, very well, indeed.
Her sister is in Johannesburg. She went out as a
governess and now she is married to a mine manager.
There are so fcAv girls in the country. Oh ! he is
quite a nice man, a little rough, I should say, but
quite suitable.'

Victoria wondered for a moment whether her Lady-
ship was going to suggest sending her out to Johan-

A BED OF ROSES 45

nesbm-g to marry a mine manager, but tbe Presence
resumed.

' No doubt you would rather stay in London.
Things are a little difficult here, but very pleasant,
very pleasant indeed.'

'I don't mind things being difficult,' Victoria broke
in, mustering a little courage. ' I must earn my own
living and I don't mind what I do ; I'd be a nursery
governess, or a housekeeper, or companion. I haven't
got any degrees, I couldn't quite be a governess, but
I'd try anything.'

' Certainly, certainly, I'm sure we will find some-
thing very nice for you. I can't think of anybody
just now, but leave me your address. I'll let you
know as soon as I hear of anything,' Lady Rockliam
gently crossed her hands over her waist-band and
benevolently smiled at her protegee.

Victoria wrote down her address and listened
patiently to Lady Rockham who discoursed at length
on the imperfections of the weather, the noisiness of
London streets and the prowess of Charles Rockham
on the Kidderwick links. She felt conscious of
having to return thanks for what she was about to
receive.

Lady Rockham's kindness persisted up to the door
to which she showed Victoria. She dismissed her
with the Parthian shot that ' thej'- would find some-
thing for her, something quite nice.'

Victoria walked away ; cold gusts of wind struck
her, chilling her to the bone, catching and furling her
skirts about her. She felt at the same time cheered
and depressed. The interview had been inconclusive.
However, as she walked over the Serpentine bridge,
under which the wind was angrily ruffling the black
water, a great wave of optimism came over her, for it
was late and she remembered that in the Edgware
Road, there was a small Italian restaurant where she
was about to limch.

46 A BED OF ROSES

It was well for Victoria that she was an optimist and
a good sleeper, for November had waned into December
before anything happened to disturb the tenor of her
life. For a whole fortnight she had heard nothing
from Lady Rockham or from Edward. She had
■wi-itten to Molly but had received no answer. All
day long the knocker fell with brutal emphasis upon
the doors of Portsea Place and brought her nothing.
She did not think much or hope much. She did
nothing and spent little. Her only companion was
I\Irs Bell, who still hovered round her mysterious
lodger, so ladylike and so quiet.

She passed hours sometimes at the window watch-
ing the stream of life in Portsea Place. The stream
did not flow very swiftly ; its principal eddies
vanished by midday with the milkman and the
butcher. The postman recurred more often but he
did not count. Now and then the policeman passed
and spied suspiciously into the archway where the
landladies no longer met. Cabs trotted into it now
and then to change horses.

Victoria watched alone. Beyond Mrs Bell, she
seemed to know nobody. The young man downstairs
continued to be invisible, and contented himself with
slamming the door. The young lady in the back room
continued to wash discreetly and to snore gently at
night. Sometimes Victoria ventured abroad to be
bitten by the blast. Sometimes she straj^-ed over the
town in the intervals of food. She had to exercise
caution in this, for an aspect of the lodging house
fire had only lately dawned upon her. If she did not
order it at all she was met on the tlii-eshold by dark-
ness and cold ; if she ordered it for a given time she
was so often Lite that she returned to find it dead or
kept up wastefully at the rate of sixpence a scuttle.
This trouble was chronic ; on bitter days it seemed to
dog her footsteps.

She had ahnost grown accustomed to loneliness.

A BED OF ROSES 47

Alone she watched at her window or paced the streets.
She had established a quasi-right to a certain seat at
the Italian restaurant where the waiters had ceased
to speculate as to who she was. The demoralisation
of unemployment was upon her. She did not cast
up her accounts ; she rose late, made no plans. She
slept and ate, careless of the morrow.

It was in the midst of this slow settling into
despond that a short note from Lady Rockham
arrived like a bombshell. It asked her to call on
a Mrs Holt who lived in Finchley Road. It appeared
that Mrs Holt was in need of a companion as her
husband was often away. Victoria was shaken out
of her torpor. Li a trice her optimism crushed out of
sight the flat thoughts of aimless days. She feverishly
dressed for the occasion. She debated whether she
would have time to insert a new white frill into the
neck of a black blouse. Heedless of expenditure she
spent two and eleven pence on new black gloves, and
twopence on the services of a shoeblack who whistled
cheerful tunes, and smiled on the coppers. Victoria
sallied out to certain victory. The wind was blowing
balmier. A fitful gleam of sunshine lit up and
reddened the pile of tangerines in a shop window.

CHAPTER YJI

'I'm very sorry you can't come,' said Mrs Holt.
' Last Sunday, Mr Baker was so nice. I never heard
anything so interesting as his sermon on the personal
devil. I was C[uite fiightened. At least I would haA-e
been if he had said all that at Bethlehem. You know,
when we were at Rawsley we had such nice lantern
lectures. I do miss them.'

Victoria looked up with a smile at the kindly red
face. 'I'm so sorry,' she said, 'I've got such a
headache. Perhaps it'll pass over if I go for a Little
walk while you are at Chui'ch.' She was not uncon-
scious, as she said this, of the subtle flatteiy that the
use of the word 'church' implies when used to
people who dare not leave their chapel.

' Do, Victoria, I'm sure it will do you good,' said
Mrs Holt, kindly. 'If the sun keeps on, we'll go to
the Zoo this afternoon. I do like to see the children
in the monkey house.'

'I'm sure I shaU be glad to go,' said Victoria
quietly. 'It's very kind of you to take me.'

'Nonsense, my dear,' replied Mrs Holt, gently
beaming. ' You are like the simshine, you know.
Dear me ! I don't know what I should have done if
I hadn't found you. You can't imagine the woman
who was here before you. She was the daughter of
a clergyman, and I did get so tired of hearing how
they lost their money. But, there, I'm worrying you
when you've got a headache. I do wish j'ou'd try
Dr Eberman's pills. All the papers are simply full

48

A BED OF ROSES 49

of advertisements about tliem. And these German
doctors are so clever. Oh, I shall be so late.'

Victoria assured her that she was sure her head
would be better hj dinner time. Mrs Holt fussed
about the room for a moment, anxiously tested the
possible dustiness of a bracket, pulled the curtains
and picked up the Sunda}^ papers from the floor.
She then collected a small canvas bag decorated with
a rainbow parrot, a hjmm and ser\dce book, her
spectacle case, several unnecessaiy articles which
happened to be about and left the room with the
characteristic rustle which pervades the black silk
dresses of well-to-do Rawsley dames.

Victoria sat back in the large leather armchair.
Her head was not very bad but she felt just enough
in her temples a tiny passing twinge to shirk chapel
without qualms. She toyed with a broken backed
copy of Charlton on Book-keeping which lay in her
lap. It was a curious fate that had landed her into
Charlton's epoch making work. Mrs Holt, that prince
of good fellows, had a genius for sa^'ing pennies and
had been trained in the school of a Midland house-
hold, but the fortunes of her husband had left her
feebly struggling in a backwash of pounds. So
niuch had this been the case that Mr Holt had
discovered joyfully that he had at last in his house a
woman who could bring herself to passing an account
for twenty pounds for stabling. Little by little
Victoria had estabhshed her position. She was
•\Irs Holt's necessary companion and factotum. She
could apparently do anything and do it well ; she
could even tackle such intricate tasks as checking
Avashing or understanding Bradshaw. She was
always ready and always bright. She had an
unerring eye for a good quality of velvet ; she could
time the carriage to a nicety for the Albert Hall
concert. Mrs Holt felt that without this pleasant
and competent 3'oung woman she would be quite lost.

D

50 A BED OF ROSES

Mr Holt too, after inspecting Victoria grimly every-
day for an entire month, had decided that she would
do and had lent her the work on book-keeping, hoping
that she would be able to keep the house accounts.
In three months he had not addressed her twenty
times beyond wishing her good morning and good
night. He had but reluctantly left Kawsley and his
beloved cement works to superintend his ever growing
Loiidon business. He was a little suspicious of
Victoria's easy manners, suspicious of her intentions,
too, as the northerner is wont to be. Yet he
grudgingly admitted that she was level headed,
which was ' more than Maria or his fool of a son
would ever be.'

Victoria thought for a moment of Holt, the book-
keeping, the falling due of insurance premiums ;
then of Mrs Holt who had just stepped into her
carriage which was slowly proceeding do^vn the
drive, crmiching into the hard gravel. A gleam of
sunshine fitfully lit up the polished panels of the
clumsy barouche as it vanished through the gate.

This then was her life. It might weU have been
worse. Mr Holt sometimes let a rough kindness
appear through an exterior as hard as his own
cement. Mrs Holt, stout, comfortable and good-
tempered, quite incompetent when it came to con-
trolling a house in the Finchley Road, was not of
the termagant type that Victoria had expected when
she became a companion. Her nature, peaceful as
that of a mollusc, was kind and had but one out-
standing feature ; her passionate devotion to her
son Jack.

Victoria thought that she might well be content to
pass the remainder of her days among these good
folk. From the bottom of her heart mild discontent
rose every now and then. It was a little didl.
Tuesday was like j\Ionday and probably like the
Tuesday after next. The glories of the town, which

A BED OF ROSES 51

she had caught sight of dnring her wanderings,
before she floated into the still waters of the Finchley
Road, haunted her at times. The motor buses too,
which perpetually carried couples to the theatre, the
crowds in Regent Street making for the tea-shops,
while the barouche trotted sedately up the hill, all
this life and adventure were closed off.

Victoria was not unhappy. She drifted in that
singular psychological region where the greatest
possible pain is not suffering and where the acme
of possible pleasure is not joy. She did not realise
that this negative condition was almost happiness,
and yet did not precisely repine. The romance of
her life, born at Lympton, now slept under the
tamarinds. The stupefaction of the search for work,
the hopes and fears of December, all that lay far
away in those dark chambers of the brain into which
memory cannot force a way but swoons on the
threshold.

Yes, she was happy enough. Her eyes, casting
through the bay window over the evergreens, trimly
stationed and dusty, strayed over the low wall. On
the other side of the road stood another house, low
and solid as this one, beautiful though ugly in its
strength and worth. It is not the house you live in
that matters, thought Victoria, unconsciously com-
mitting plagiarism, but the house opposite. The
house -she lived in was well enough. Its inhabitants
were kind, the servants respectful, even the mongrel
Manchester terrier with the melancholy eyes of some
■collie ancestor did not gTiaw her boots.

She let her hands fall into her lap and, for a minute,
sat staring into space, seeing with extraordinary
lucidity those things to come which a movement
dispels and swathes with the dense fog of forgetful-
ness. With terrible clarity she saw the life of the
last three months and the life to come, as it was in
the be«cinning ever to be.

52 A BED OF ROSES

The door opened softl3^ Before slie liad time to
turn round two hands were clapped over her eyes.
She struggled to free herself, but the hands grew
more insistent and two thumbs softly touched her
cheeks.

'Dimple, dimple,' said a voice, while one of the
thumbs gentl3'' dwelled near the corner of her mouth.

Victoria struggled to her feet, a little flushed, a
strand of hair Hying over her left ear.

* Mr Jack,' she said rather curtly, ' I don't like that.
You know 3^ou mustn't do that. It's not fair. I really
don't like it.' She was angry; her nostrils opened
and shut quicklj' ; she glared at the good looking
boy before her.

'Naughty temper,' he remarked, quite unruffled.
'You'll take a fit one of these days, Vicky, if you
don't look out.'

' Very likely if you give me starts like that. Not
that I mind that so much, but really it's not nice of
you. You know j^ou wouldn't do that if your mother
Avas looking.'

' Course I wouldn't,' said Jack, ' the old mater's
such a back number you know.'

' Then,' replied Victoria with much dignity, ' you
ought not to do things when we're alone which you
wouldn't do before her.'

' Oh Lord ! morals again,' groaned the youth.
* You are rough on me, Vicky.'

' And you mustn't call me Vicky,' said Victoria.
*I don't say I mind, but it isn't the thing. If any-
body heard you I don't know what they'd think.'

' Who cares ! ' said Jack in his most dare devil
style, putting his hand on the back of hers and
stroking it softly. Victoria snatched her hand away
and went to the window where she seemed absorbed,
in tlje contemplation of the evergreens. Jack looked
a little nonplussed. He was an attractive youth and
looked about twenty. He had the fresh complexion

A BED OF ROSES 53

and blue eyes of his father but differed from him by
a measm-e of delicacy. His tall body was a little
bent ; his face was all pinks and whites set off by the
blackness of his straight hair. He well deserved his
school nickname of Kathleen Mavourneen. His long
thin hands, which would have been aristocratic but
for the slight thickness of the joints, branded him a
poet. He was not happy in the cement business.

Jack stepped up to the window. ' Sorry,' he said,
as hiunbl}^ as possible. Victoria did not move.

' Won't never do it again,' he said, pouting like a
scolded child.

' It's no good,' answered Victoria, ' I'm not going to
make it up.'

' I shaU go and drown myself in the Regent Canal,'
said Jack dolefully.

' I'd rather jou went for a walk along the banks,'
said Victoria.

' I will if you'll come too,' answered Jack.

' No, I'm not going out. I've got a headache.
Look here, I'll forgive you on condition that you
go out now and if you'll do that perhaps you can
come with your mother and me to the Zoo this
afternoon.'

' AU right then,' grumbled the culprit, 'you're
rather hard on me. Always knew you didn't like
me. Sorry.'

Victoria looked out again. A minute later Jack
came out of the house and, pausing before the window,
signed to her to lift up the sash.

' What do you want now ? ' asked Victoria, thi^usting
her head out.

' It's a bargain about the Zoo, isn't it ? '

'Yes, of course it is, silly boy. I've got several
children's tickets.'

Jack made a wry face, but walked away with a
queer little feeling of exultation. 'Silly boy.' She
had called him 'silly boy.' Victoria watched him

54 A BED OF ROSES

go with some perplexity. The young man was
rather a problem. Not only did his pretty face and
gentle ways appeal to her in themselves, but he had
told her something of his thoughts and they did not
run on cement. His father had thrust him into his
business as men of his type naturally force their sons
into their own avocation whatever it be. Victoria
knew that he was not happy and was sorry for him ;
how could she help feeling sorry for this lonely youth
who had once printed a rondeau in the Westminster
Gazette.

Jack had taken to her at once. All that was
delicate and feminine in him called out to her square
chin and steady eyes. Often she had seen him look
hungril}' at her strong hands where bone and muscle
plainly showed. But, in his wistful way, Jack had
loegun to embarrass her. He was making love to her
in a sense, sometimes sportively, sometimes plaintively,
and he was difficult to resist.

Victoria saw quite well that troul^le must ensue.
She would not allow the boy to fall in love with her
when all she could offer was an almost motherly
affection. Besides, they could not marry ; it would
be absurd. She was puzzled as to what to do.
Everything tended to complicate the situation for
her. She had once been to the theatre with Jack
and remembered with anxiety hoAv his arm had rested
against hers in the cab and how, when he leaned
over towards her to speak, she had felt him slowly
inhaling the scents of her hair.

She had promised herself that Jack should be
snubbed. And now he played pranks on her. It
must end in their being caught in an ambiguous
attitude aud then she would be blamed. She might
tell Mrs Holt, but then what would be her position in
the household ? Jack would sulk and Mrs Holt
would watch them suspiciously until the situation
became intolerable and she had to leave. Leave !

A BED OF ROSES 55

no, no, she couldn't do that. With sudden vividness
Victoria pictured the search for work, the silence of
Portsea Place, the Rialto-like archwa}^, Mrs Bell, and
the cold, the loneliness. Events must take their
course.

Like the rasp of a corncrake she heard the wheels
of the barouche on the gravel. Mrs Holt had returned
from the discourse on the personal devil.

CHAPTER VIII

' Tho:mas,' said Mrs Holt with some hesitation.

' Yes,' said Mr Holt. ' What is it ? '

' Oh ! nothing,' said Mrs Holt, ' Just a queer idea.
Nothing worth talking about.'

' Well, come again when it is worth talking about,'
growled ^Ir Holt, relapsing into his newspaper.

' Of course there's nothing in it,' remarked Mrs
Holt pertinaciously.

'Nothing in what?' her husband burst forth.
' What do you mean, ^laria ? Have you got anything
to say or not ? If you have, let's have it out.'

' I was only going to say that Jack ... of course
I don't think that A'^ictoria sees it, but you \mderstand
he's a very young mau, but I don't blame her, he's
such a funny boy,' said Mrs Holt lucidly.

' Good heavens, Maria,' cried her husband, ' do you
want me to smash something ? '

'How you do go on,' remarked Maria placidly.
' What I meant to say is that don't you think Jack's
rather too attentive to Victoria ? '

Mr Hoi* 'Iropped his paper suddenly. ' Attentive ? '
he growled, ' haven't noticed it.'

' Oh ! you men never notice things,' replied Mrs
Holt with conscious superiority. ' Don't say I didn't
warn you, that's all.'

'Now look here, Maria,' said Mr Holt, his blue
eyes darkening visibly, 'I don't want any more of
this tittle tattle. You can keep it for the next P.S.A.
I can tell you that if the j^oung cub is "attentive" to

56

A BED OF ROSES 57

Mrs Fulton, %vell so mucli the better : it'll teacli him
something worth knowing if he finds ont that there's
somebody else in the world who's worth doing some-
thing for bej'ond hia precious self.'

' Very well, veiy well,' purred Mrs Holt. ' K you
take it like that, I don't mind, Thomas. Don't say
I didn't warn you if anything happens. That's all.'

Mr Holt got up fi-oni the leather chair and left the
room. There were moments when his wife roused in
him the fury that filled him when once, in his young
days, he had dropped steel bolts into the cement
grinders to gratify a grudge against an employer.
The temper that had made him rejoice over the sharp
cracks speaking of smashed axles was in him still.
He had got above the social stratum where husbands
beat their wives, but innuendoes and semi-secrets
goaded him almost to paroxysm.

Mrs Holt heard the door slam and coolly took up
her work. She was engaged in the congenial task
of disfigm-ing a piece of Morris chintz. She had
decided that the little bag given her by an Eesthetic
fi'iend was too flat and she was busily employed in
embroidering the ' eyebright ' iDattern, with coloured
wool in the most approv\-ed early Victorian manner.
' At any rate,' she thought, ' Thomas has got the idea
in his head.'

Mrs Holt had not arrived at her determination to
awaken her husband's suspicions without much
thought. She had begun to realise that ' something
was wrong' one Sunday afternoon at the Zoo. She
had taken Jack and' Victoria in the barouche, putting
down to a fit of filial affection the readiness of Jack
to join them. She had availed herself of the oppor-
tunity to drive round the Circle, so as to show off
her adored son to the Bramleys, who were there in
their electric, to the Wilsons, who were worth
quite fifty thousand a year, to the Wellensteins too,
who seemed to do so wonderfully well on the

58 A BED OF ROSES

Stock Exchange. Jack had taken it very nicely
indeed.

All the afternoon Jack had remained with them ;
he had bought animal food, found a fellow to take
them into the paAdlion, and even driven home with
them. It was when he helped his charges into the
carriage that Mrs Holt had noticed something. He
first handed his mother in and then Victoria. Mrs
Holt had seen him put his hand under Victoria's
forearm, which was quite ordinary, but she had also
seen him hold her in so doing by the joint of her
short sleeve and long glove where a strip of wliite
skin showed and slip two fingers under the glove.
This was not so ordinary and Mrs Holt began to
think.

When a Rawsley dame begins to think of things
such as these, her conscience invariably demands of
her that she shoidd know more. Mrs Holt therefore
said nothing, but kept a watchful eye on the couple.
She could urge nothing against Victoria. Her com-
panion remained the cheerful and competent friend
of the early days ; she was no more amiable to Jack
than to his father : she talked no more to him than to
the rest of the household ; she did not even look at
him much. But Jack was always about her ; his
eyes followed her round the room, playing with every
one of her movements. Whenever she smiled his
lips fluttered in response.

Mrs Holt passed slowly through the tragic stages
that a mother goes through when her son loves. She
was not very anxious as to the results of the affair,
for she knew Jack, though she loved him. She knew
that his purpose was never strong. Also she trusted
Victoria. But, every day and inevitably, the terrible
jealousy that invades a mother's soul crept further
into hers. He was her son and he was wavering
from an allegiance the pangs of childbirth had entitled
her to.

A BED OF ROSES 59

Mrs Holt loved her son and, like most of those who
love, would torture the being that was all in all for
her. She would have crushed his thoughts if she had
felt able to do so, so as to make him more malleable ;
she rejoiced to see him safely anchored to the cement
business, where nothing could distract him ; she
even rejoiced over his weakness, for she enjoyed the
privilege of giving him strength. She would have
ground to powder his ambitions, so that he might be
more fully her son, hers, hers only.

The stepping in of the other woman, remote and
subtle as it was, was a terrible thing. She felt it
from afar as the Arabian steed hears the coming
simoon moaning beyond the desert. With terrible
lucidity she had seen everything that passed for a
month after that fatal day at the Zoo, when Jack
touched Victoria's arm. She saw his looks, stolen
from liis mother's face, heard the softness of his voice
which was often sharp for her. Like gall, his little
attentions, the quick turn of his face, a flush some-
times, entered into and poisoned her soul. He was
her son and, with all the ruthless, entirely animal
cruelty of the mother, she had begun to swear to
herself that he should be hers and hers only, and that
she would hug him in her arms, aye, hug him to
death if need be, if only in her arms he died.

Savagely selfish as a good mother, however, Mrs
Holt remembered that she must go slowly, collect her
evidence, allow the fruit to ripen before she plucked
it. Thus she retained her outward kindnesses for
Victoria, spoke her fair, threw her even into frequent
contact with her son. And every day she tortured
herself with all the tiny signs that radiate from a
lover's face like aerolites from the blazing tail of
a comet. Now her case was complete. She had seen
Jack lean over Victoria while she was on her knees
dusting some books, and let his hand dwell on hers.
She had seen, his face all alight, his mouth a little

6o A BED OF ROSES

open, breathing in the fragrance of this woman, the
intruder. xVnd the iron had entered into the mother's
heart so sharply that she had to huriy away unseen
for fear she should cry out.

Mrs Holt dropped her little work bag. She
wondered whether her husband would see. Would
she have to worry him placidly for months as she
usually had to when she wanted her own way ? Or
would he understand and side with her? She did
not know that women are intuitive, for she knew
nothing either of women or men, but she felt perfectly
certain that she was cleverer than Thomas Holt. _ If
he would not see, then she would have to show him,
even if she had to plot for her son's sake.

The door opened suddenly. Thomas Holt entered.
His face was perturbed, his jaw setting gi'imly
between the two deep folds in his cheeks. That was
the face of his bad days,

* Well, Thomas? ' ventured his wife hesitatingly.
'You were right, Maria,' answered Holt after a

pause. ' Jack's a bigger fool than I thought him.'

' Ah ! ' said Mrs Holt with meaning, her heart
beating a sharp tattoo.

' I was standing on the first landing,' Holt went on.
'I saw them at the door of the smoke-room. He
asked her for a flower from her dress ; she wouldn't
give it him ; he reached over and pulled one away.'

' Yes ? ' said Mrs Holt, everything in her quivering.

' Put his arm round her, though she pushed him
off, and kissed her.'

Mrs Holt clasped her hands together. A sharp
pang had shot through her. * What are you going
to do ? ' she asked.

* Do ? ' said Holt. ' Sack her of course. Send him
up to Rawsley. Damn the young fool.'

CHAPTER IX

Breakfast is so proverlDially dismal, that dismalness-
becomes good form ; humanity feels silent and
liverish, so it grudges Providence its due, for it
cannot return thanks for the precocious blessings of
the day. Such was breakfast at Fincliley Pioad, and
Victoria ^YOuld not have noticed it on that particular
morning had the silence not somehow been eloquent.
She could feel, if not see storm clouds on the horizon.

Mr Holt sat over his eggs and bacon, eating quickly
with both hands, every now and then soiling the
napkin tightly tucked into the front of his low
collar. There was nothing abnormal in this, except
perhaps that he kept his eyes more closely glued
than usual to the table cloth ; moreover he had not
unfolded the paper. Therefore he had not looked up
the prices of Industrials. This was singular. Mrs
Holt never said much at breakfast, in deference to
her husband, but this morning her silence was some-
what ostentatious. She handed Victoria her tea.
Victoria passed her the toast and hardly heard her
' thank you.'

Jack sat more abstracted than ever. He was
feeling veiy uncomfortable. He wavered between the
severe talking to he had received fi-om Victoria the
previous afternoon and the sulkiness of his parents.
Of course he was feeling depressed, but he could not
tell why. Victoria's mere nod of acceptance when he
offered her the salt, and his mother's curt refusal of
the pepper did not contribute to make him easier in

6i

62 A BED OF ROSES

his mind. Mrs Holt cleared her throat : ' Blo^ving
up for rain, Thomas,' she said. Mr Holt did not
m.ove a muscle. He helped liimself to marmalade.
Stolid silence once more reigned over the breakfast
table. Jack stole a sidelong glance at Victoria. Her
eyes were fixed upon her hands crossed before her.
Jack's eyes dwelled for a moment on their shapely
strength, then upon the firm white nape of her bent
neck. An insane desire possessed him to jump up,
seize her in his arms, crush his lips into that
spot where the dark tendrils of her hair began.
He repressed it, and considered the grandfather's
clock whicli had once ticked in a peasant Holt's
kitchen. To-day it ticked with almost horrible
deliberation.

Jack found that he had no appetite. Forebodings
were at work with him. Perhaps A'ic had told. Of
course not, she couldn't be such a fool. What a beastly
room it was ! Sideboai'd must Aveigh a ton. And
those red curtains ! awful, simply awful. Good God,
why couldn't he get out of the damned place and
take Vic with him. Couldn't do that yet of course,
but couldn't stick it much longer. He'd be off to the
City now. Simply awfid here. Jack rose to his feet
suddenly, so suddenly that his chair tilted and fell
over.

Mrs Holt looked up. ' I wish you wouldn't be so
noisy. Jack,' she said.

' Sorry, mater,' said Jack, going round to her and
bending down to kiss her, 'I'm off.'

' You're in a fine hurry,' remarked Mr Holt grimly,
looking up and speaking for the first time.

* Left some work over,' said Jack, in a curt manner,
making for the door.

' Hem! j-ou've got work on the brain,' retorted his
father in his most sardonic tone.

Jack opened the door without a word.

'One minute, Jack,' said Mrs Holt placidly, 'j^ou

A BED OF ROSES 63

needn't go yet, your father and I have something to
say to you.'

Jack stood rooted to the ground. His knees almost
gave way beneath him. It, it, it was it. They knew.
Victoria's face, tlie profile of which he could see
outlined like a plaster cast against the red wall paper
did not help him. Her face had set, rigid like a
mask. Now she knew why the previous evening had
gone by in silence. She rose to her feet, a strange
numb feeling creeping all over her.

' Don't go, Mrs Fulton,' said Mr Holt sharply, ' this
concerns you.'

For some seconds the party remained silent. Mr
and Mrs Holt had not moved from the table. Jack and
Victoria stood right and left, like prisoners at the bar.

' Victoria,' said Mrs Holt, ' I'm very sorry to have
to say it, but I'm afi'aid you know what I'm going to
tell you. Of course I don't say I blame you. It's
quite natural at your age and all that.' She stopped,
for a flush was rising in Victoria's face, the cheek-
bones showing two little red patches. Mr Holt had
clasped his hands together and kept his eyes fixed
on Victoria's with imnatural intensity.

' You see, Victoria,' resumed Mrs Holt, ' it's always
difficult when there's a young man in the house ; of
coui'se I make allowances, but, really, you see it's so
complicated and things get so annoying. You know
what people are. . . .'

' That'U do, Maria,' snarled Mr Holt, jumping to
his feet. ' If you don't know what you have to say,
I do. Look here, Mrs Fulton. Last night I saw
Jack kissing you. I know perfectly well you didn't
encourage him. You'd know better. However, there
it is. I don't pretend I like what I've got to do but
this must be stopped. I can't have philandering
going on here. You, Jack, you're going back to the
works at Rawsley and don't let me see anything of
vou this side of the next three months. As for vou,

64 A BED OF ROSES

Mrs Fiilton, I'm sorry, but Mrs Holt will have to find
another comj)anion. I know it's hard on you, to ask
you to leave without notice but I propose to give you
an indemnity of twent}- pounds. I should like to keep
you here, but you see that after what has happened
it's impossible. I suppose you agree to that ? '

Victoria stood silent for a moment, her hands tight!}'-
clenched. She knew Holt's short ways but the
manner of the dismissal was brutal. Everything
seemed to revolve round her, she recovered herself
with difficulty.

' Yes,' she said at length, ' you're quite right.'

Jack had not moved. His hands were nervoush"
Inlaying with his watch chain. Victoria in the midst
of her trouble, remembered Edward's familiar gesture.
They were alike in a way, these two tall weedy men,
both irresolute and undeveloped.

' A'^ery well then,' continued Holt ; ' perhaps you'll
make your arrangements at once. Here is the cheque.'
He held out a slip of blue paper.

Victoria looked at him for a moment dully. Then
revolt surged inside her. ' I don't want yom- indemnity,'
she said coldlj^', ' you merely owe me a month's wages
in lieu of notice.'

The shadow of a smile crept into Holt's face. The
semi-legal, semi-commercial plirase pleased him.

'Mrs Holt rose from the table and went to Victoria.
' I'm so sorry,' she said, speaking more gently than she
had ever done. ' You must take it. Things are so hard.'

' Oh, but I say dad . . .' broke in Jack.

* That will do, do you hear me, sir? ' thundered the
father violently, bringing down his fist on the table.
' I'm not asking you for j^our opinion ? You can stay
and look at your work but you just keep a silent
tongue in your head. D'you hear? '

Jack stood cowed and dumb.

' There's nothing more to say, is there ? ' gi'owled Mr
Holt, placing the cheque on the table before Victoria.

A BED OF ROSES 65

* Not mucli,' said Victoria. ' I've done no wrong.
Oh ! I'm not complaining. But I begin to understand
things. Your son has persecuted me. I didn't want
Ills attentions. You turn me out. Of course it's my
faidt, I know.'

' My dear Victoria,' interposed Mrs Holt, ' nobody
says it's your fault. We all think . . .'

' Indeed ? it's not my fault, but you turn me out.'

Mrs Holt dropped her hands helplessly.

' I see it all now,' continued Victoria. ' You don't
blame me but you're afi-aid to have me here. So long
as I was a servant all was well. Now I'm a woman
and you're afi-aid of me.' She walked up and down
nervously. ' Now understand, I've never encouraged
your son. If he had asked me to marry him I wouldn't
have done it.' A look of pain passed over Jack's face
but aroused no pit}'- in Victoria. She felt frozen.

' Oh ! but there was no question of that,' cried
Mrs Holt, plaintively.

' No doubt,' said Victoria ruthlessly. ' You couldn't
think of it. Nobody could think of an officer's widow
marrying into the Rawsley Works. From more than
one point of view it would be impossible. Very good.
I'll leave in the course of the morning. As for the
cheque, I'll take it. As you say, Mrs Holt, things are
hard. I've learned that and I'm still learning.'

Victoria took up the blue slip. The flush on her
face subsided somewhat. She picked up her hand-
kerchief, a letter from Molly and a small anthology
lying on the dumb waiter. She made for the door,
avoiding Jack's eyes. She felt through her do-^mcast
lids the misery of his looks. A softer feeling went
through her and she regretted her outburst. As she
I)laced her hand on the handle she turned round and
faced Mrs Holt, a gentler look in her eyes.

' I'm sorry I was hasty,' she stammered. ' I was
taken by surprise. It was . . . Aiilgar.'

The door closed softly behind her.

CHAPTER X

Victoria went up to her room and locked tlie door
behind her. She sat down on her small basket trunk
and stared out of the dormer window. She was still
all of a tingle ; her hands, grasping the rough edges
of the trunk, trembled a little. Yet she felt, amid all
her perturbation, the strange gladness that overcomes
one who has had a shock ; the contest was still
upon her.

' Yes,' she said aloud, ' I'm fi-ee. I'm out of it.'
She hated the dullness and ugliness which the Holts
had brought with them from the Midlands. The
feeling came over her almost like a spasm. Through
the dormer window she could see the white frontage
of the house opposite. It was repellent like Mrs Holt's
personal devil.

The feeling of exultation suddenly subsided in
Victoria's breast. She realised all of a sudden that
she was once more adrift, that she must find something
to do. It might not be easy. She would have to find
lodgings. The archway in Portsea Place materialised
crudely. She could hear the landlady from 84 detail-
ing the last pliase of rheumatics to the slatternly maid
wdio did for the grocer. Awful, awful. Perhaps she'd
never find another berth. What should she do?

Victoria pulled herself together with a start. * This
will never do,' she said, ' there's lots of time to worry
in. Now I must pack.' She got up, drew the trunk
into the middle of the room, opened it and took out
the tray. Then, methodically, as she had been taught

A BED OF ROSES 67

to do by her mother, she piled her belongings on the
bed. In a few minutes it was filled with the nonde-
script possessions of the nomad. Skirts, books, boots,
underclothing, an inkpot even, jostled one another in
dangerous proximity. Victoria surveyed the heap
with some dismay ; all her troubles had vanished in
the horror that comes over every packer : she would
never get it all in. She struggled for half an hour,
putting the heavy things at the bottom, piling blouses
on the tray, cunningly secreting scent bottles in shoes,
stuffing handkerchiefs into odd comers. Then she
dropped the tray in, closed the lid and sat down upon
it. The box creaked a little and gave way. Victoria
locked it and got up with a little sigh of satisfaction.
But she suddenly saw that the cupboard door was
ajar and that in it hung her best dress and a
feather boa ; on the floor stood the packer's plague,
shoes. It was quite hopeless to try and get them in.

Victoria surveyed the difficulty for a moment ; then
she regretfidly decided that she must ask Mrs Holt
for a cardboard box, for her hat-box was already
mortgaged. A nuisance. But rather no, slie would
ask the parlourmaid. She went to the door and was
surprised to find it locked. She turned the key
slowly, looking round at the cheerful little room,
every article of which was stupid without being
offensive. It was hard, after all, to leave all this,
without'knowing where to go.

Victoria opened the door and jumped back with
a little cry. Before her stood Jack. He had stolen
up silently and waited. His face had flushed as he
saw her ; in his eyes was the misery of a sorrowful
dog. His mouth, always a little open, trembled with
excitement.

' Jack,' cried Victoria, ' oh ! what do you want ? '

' I've come to say ... oh ! Victoria . . .' Jack
broke down in the middle of his carefully prepared
sentence.

68 A BED OF ROSES

' Oh ! go away,' said Victoria faintly, putting her
hand on her breast. ' Do go away. Can't you see
I've had trouble enough this morning ? '

' I'm sorry,' muttered Jack miserably. ' I've
been a fool, Vic, I've come to ask you if j^ou'll
forgive me. It's all my fault. I can't bear it.'

' Don't talk about it,' said Victoria becoming rigid.
' That't all over. Besides you'll have forgotten all
about it to-morrow,' she added cruelly.

Jack did not answer directly, though he was stung.

* Vic,' he said with hesitation, ' I can't bear to see
you go, all through me. Listen, there's something
you said this morning. Did you mean it ? '

' Mean what ? ' asked Victoria uneasily.

* You said, if I'd asked you to maiTy me you . . .
I know I didn't, but you know, Vic, I wanted you
the first time I saw you. Oh ! Vic, won't you marry
me now ? '

Victoria looked at him incredulously. His hands
were still trembling with excitement. His light eyes
stared a little. His long thin frame was swaj'ing.

* I'd do anytliing for 3-ou. You don't know what I
could do. I'd work for you. I'd love you more than
you've ever been loved.' Jack stopped short ; there
was a hardness that frightened him in the set of
Victoria's jaw.

' You didn't say that yesterday,' she answered.

* No, I was mad. But I wanted to all along, Vic.
You're the only woman I ever loved. I don't ask
more of you than to let me love you.'

Victoria looked at him more gently. His likeness
to her brother grew plainer than ever. Kind but
hopelessly inefficient. Poor boy, he meant no harm.

' I'm sorry. Jack,' she said after a pause, ' I can't
do it. You know you couldn't make a living . . .'

' Oh, I could, I could ! ' cried Jack clinging at the
straw, ' if I had you to work for. You can't tell what
it means for me.'

A BED OF ROSES 69

'Perhaps you could work,' said Victoria with a
wan little smile, 'but I can't many you. Jack, you
see. I like you very much, iDut I'm not in love with
you. It wouldn't he fair.'

Jack looked at her dully. He had not dared to
expect anj^thing but defeat, yet defeat crushed him.

' There, you must go away now,' said A^ictoria, 'I must
go downstairs. Let me pass please.' She squeezed
between him and the wall and made for the stairs.

' No, I can't let you go,' said Jack hoarsely. He
seized her by the waist and bent over her. A^ictoria
looked the space of a second into his ejes where the
tiny veins were becoming bloodshot. She pushed
him back sharply and, wrenching herself away, ran
down the stairs. He did not follow her.

Victoria looked up from the landing. Jack was
standing with bent head, one hand on the banister.
' The only thing you can do for me is to go away,'
she said coldly. 'I shall come up again in five
minutes mth Effie. I suppose yoii will not want us
to find you outside my bedroom door.'

She went downstairs. When she came up again
with the maid, who carried a large brown cardboard
box, Jack was nowhere to be seen.

A quarter of an hour later she followed the
butcher's boy who was dragging her box down the
stairs, dropping it with successive thuds from step
to step. As she reached the hall, while she was
hesitating as to whether she should go into the
dining room to say good-bye to Mrs Holt, the door
opened and Mrs Holt came out. The two women
looked at one another for the space of a second, like
duellists about to cross swords. Then Mrs Holt held
out her hand.

' Good-bye, Victoria,' she said, ' I'm sorry you're
going. ' I know you're not to blame.'

' Thank you,' said Victoria icily. ' I'm sorry also,
but it couldn't be helped.'

70 A BED OF ROSES

Mrs Holt heaved a large sigh. ' I suppose not,'
she said.

Victoria withdrew her hand and went towards the
door. The l3ntcher's boy had already taken her box
down, marking the whitened steps with two black
lines.

' Shall I call a cab, mum ? ' he asked.

' Yes please,' said Victoria dreamily.

The youth went down the drive, his heels crunching
into the gravel. Victoria stood at the top of the steps,
looking out at the slirubs, one or two of which showed
pale buds, standing sharp like jewels on the black
stems. ]\Irs Holt came up behind her softly.

' I hope we don't part in anger, Victoria,' she said
guiltily. _

Victoria looked at her with faint amusement. True,
anger is a cardinal sin.

' Oh ! no, not at all,' she answered. ' I quite under-
stand.'

' Don't l3e afi'aid to give me as a reference,' said
Mrs Holt.

' Thank you,' said A^ictoria. ' I shan't forget.'

' And if ever you're in trouble, come to me.'

* You're very kind,' said Victoria. Mrs Holt was
kind, she felt. She understood her better now.
Much of her sternness oozed out of her. A mother
defending her son knows no pity, tliought Victoria ;
perhaf)s it's wrong to resent it. It's nature's way of
keeping the young alive.

The cab came trotting up the drive and stopped.
The butcher's boy was loading the trunk upon the
roof. Victoria turned to Mrs Holt and took her hand.

' Good-bye,' she said, ' j^ou've been very good to me.
Don't think I'm so bad as you thought me this morn-
ing. Your son has just asked me to marry him.'

Mrs Holt dropped Victoria's hand ; her face was
distorted by a spasm.

' I refused him,' said Victoria.

A BED OF ROSES 7r

She stepped into the cab and directed the cabman
to Portsea Place. As they turned into the road she
looked back. At the head of the steps Mrs Holt
stood fi'ozen and amazed. Victoria alinost smiled
but, her eyes wandering upwards, she saw, at her
dormer window, Jack's head and shoulders. His
blue ej^es were fixed upon her with unutterable long-
ing. A few strands of hair had blown down upon his
forehead. For the space of a second they gazed into
each other's eyes. Then the wall blotted him out
suddenly. Victoria sighed softly and sank back upon
the seat of the cab.

At the moment she had no thought. She was at
such a point as one may be who has turned the last
page of the first volume of a lengthy book : the next
page is blank. Nothing remained even of that last
look in which Jack's blue eyes had pitifully retold
his sorry tale. She was like a rope which has parted
with many groans and wrenchings ; broken and its
strands scattering, its ends float lazilj^ at the mercy
of the waves, preparing to sink. She was going more
certainly into the unknown than if she had walked
blindfold into the darkest night.

The horse trotted gently, the l)rakes gritting on the
wheels as it picked its way down the steep. The
fresh air of April drove into the cab, stinging a little
and yet balmy with the freshness of latent spring,
Victoria sat up, clasped her hands on the doors and
craned out to see. There was a little fever in her
blood again ; the spirit of adventure was raising its
head. As fitful gleams of sunshine lit up and irradi-
ated the puddles a passionate interest in the life
around seemed to overpower her. She looked almost
greedily at the spire, far down the Wellington Road,
shining white like molten metal with almost Italian
brilliancy against a sky pale as shallow water. The
light, the young wind, the scents of earth and buds,
the men and women who walked with springy step

72 A BED OF ROSES

intent on no business, all this, and even the horse who
seemed to toss his head and swish his tail in sheer
glee, told her that the world was singing its alleluia,
for, behold, spring was born unto it in gladness,
with all its trappings and its sumptuous promise.

Everything was beaiitiful ; not even the dreary waste
of wall which conceals Lords from the vulgar, nor the
thousand tombs of the churchyard where the dead
jostle and grab land from one another were without
their peculiar charm. It was not until the cab crossed
the EdgAvare Road that Victoria realised with a start
that, though the world was born again, she did not
share its good fortune. Edgware Road had dragged
her doA\m to the old leA^el ; a horrible familiarity^ half
pleasurable, half fearful, overwhelmed her. This
street, which she had so often paced carrying a heart
that grew heavier Avith eveiy step, had never led her
to anything but loneliness, to the cold emptiness of
her room. Her mood had changed. She saAv nothing
now but taAvdry stationer's shops, meretricious
jewellery and, worse still, the sickening plenty of its
monster stores of clothing and food. The road had
seized her and Avas carrying her aAA^ay toAvards its
summit, Avhere the hill melts into the skies between
the houses that grow loAver as far as the eye can see.

Victoria closed her eyes. She AA^as in the grip once
more; the Avheels of the machine AA^ere not moving^
3'et but she could feel the vibration as it got up
steam. In a little the flywheel would slowly rcA'olve
and then she Avould be caught and ground up. Yes,
ground up, cried the EdgAvare Road, like thousands
of others as good as j^ou, ground into little bits to
make roadmetal of, yes, ground, groimd fine.

The cab stopped suddenly. Victoria opened her
eyes. Yes, this Avas Portsea Place. She got out. It
had not changed. The curtains of the house opposite
were as dirty as ever. The landlady from the corner
Avas standing just under the arcliAA-ay, dressed as usual

A BED OF ROSES 73

in an expansive pink blonse in wliicli her floAving
contours rose and fell. She interrupted the voluble
comments on the weather which she was addressing
to a little faded colleague, dressed in equally faded
black, to stare at the newcomer.

' There ain't no more room at Bell's,' she remarked.

' She is very fortunate,' said the faded little woman.
' Dear me, dear me. It's a cimel world.'

'Them lidies' maids alius ketches on,' said the
large woman savagely. ' Tell yer wot, though, p'raps
they w^ouldn't if they was to see Bell's hitching. Oh,
Lor' ! There ain't no black-beetles. I don't think.'

The little faded woman looked longingly at Victoria
standing on the steps. A loafer sprung from thin air
as is the way of his kind and leant against the area
railings, touching his cap whenever he caught
Victoria's eye, indicating at times the box on the roof
of the cab. From the silent house came a noise that
grew louder and louder as the footsteps drew nearer
the door. Victoria recognised the familiar shuffle.
Mrs Bell opened the door.

'Lor, mum,' she cried, 'I'm glad to see you again.'
She caught sight of the trunk. ' Oh, are you moving,
mum ? '

' Yes, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria. ' I'm moving and I
want some rooms. Of course I thought of you.'

Mrs Bell's face fell. ' Oh, I'm so sorry, mum. The
house is full. If you'd come last week I had the first
floor back.' She seemed genuinely distressed. She
liked her quiet lodger and to turn away business of
any kind was always depressing.

Victoria felt dashed. She remembered Edward's
consternation on discovering the change in Gower
Street and, for the first time, sympathised.

' Oh, I'm so sorry too, Mrs Bell. I should like to
have come back to you.'

' Couldn't you wait until next month, mum ! ' said
Mrs Bell, reluctant to turn her away. ' The gentleman

74 A BED OF ROSES

in the second floor front, lie's going away to Rhodesia,
It's your old room, mum.'

'I'm afraid not,' said Victoria with a smile. 'In
fact I must find lodgings at once. Never mind, if I
don't like them I'll come back here. But can't you
recommend somebody ? '

Mrs Bell looked right and left, then into the arch-
way. The little faded woman had disappeared. The
landlady in the billowy blouse was still surveying the
scene. Mrs Bell froze her with a single look.

* Xo. mum, can't say I know of anybody, leastways
not here,' she said slowly. ' It's a nice neighbourhood
of course, but the houses here, they look all right, but
oh, mmn, you should see their kitchens ! Dirty ain't
the word, mum. But wait a bit, mum, if you
wouldn't mind that, I've got a sister who's got a ver}^
nice room. She lives in Castle Street, mum, near
Oxford Circus. It's a nice neighbourhood, of course
not so near the Park,' added Mrs Bell with conscious
superiority.

'I don't mind, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria. 'I'm not
fashionable.'

' Oh, mum,' cried Mrs Bell, endeavouring to imply
together the superiority of Portsea Place and the
respectability of any street patronised by her family,
' I'm sure you'll like it. I'll give you the address.'

In a few minutes Victoria was speeding eastwards.
Now she was rooted up for good. She was leaving
behind her Curran's and Mrs Bell, slender links
between her and home life, links still, however. The
pageant of London rolled by her, heaving, bursting
■with rich life. The sunshine around her bade her be
of good cheer. TJien the cab turned a corner and,
with the suddenness of a stage effect, it carried its
burden into the haunts of darkness and malodour.

CHAPTER XI

* Telegraph, mum,' said a voice.

Victoria started up from the big armchair with a
suddenness that ahiiost shot her out of it. It was the
brother of the one in Portsea Place and shared its
constitutional objection to being sat upon. It was
part of the ' sweet ' which Miss Briggs had divided
with Mrs Bell when their grandmother died.

' Thanks, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria. ' By the way,
I don't think that egg is quite fxesh. And why does
Hetty put the armchair in front of the cupboard every
day so that I can't open it ? '

' The slut, I don't see there's anything the matter
with it,' remarked Miss Briggs, simultaneously
endorsing the complaint against Hetty and defend-
ing her own marketing.

' Oh, yes there is. Miss Briggs,' snapped Victoria
with a sharpness which would have been foreign to
her some months before. ' Don't let it happen again
or I'll do my own catering.'

Miss Briggs collapsed on the spot. The profits on
the three and sixpence a week for ' tea, bread and
butter and anything that's going,' formed quite a
substantial portion of her budget.

' Oh, I'm sorry, mum,' she said, ' it's Hetty bought
'em this week. The slut, I'll talk to her.'

Victoria took no notice of the penitent landlady
and opened the Telegrapli. She absorbed the fact
that Consols had gone up an eighth and that con-
tangoes were in process of arrangement without

76 A BED OF ROSES

interest or understanding. She was thinking of
something else. Miss Briggs coughed apologetically.
Victoria looked up. Miss Briggs reflectively tied
knots in her apron string. She was a tall, lantern
jawed woman of no particular age ; old looking for
thirty-five perhaps or young looking for Mtj. Her
brown hair, plentifully sprinkled with grey, broke
out in wisps over each ear and at the back of the
neck. Her perfectly flat chest allowed big bags of
€oarse black serge to hang over her dirty white
apron. Her hands played mechanically with the
strings, while her water-coloured eye fixed upon the
Telegraph.

' You shouldn't read that paper, mum,' she remarked.

'Why not?' asked Victoria, with a smile, 'isn't it
a good one ? '

' Oh, yes, mum, I don't say that,' said Miss Briggs
with the respect that she felt for the buyers of penny
papers. ' There's none better. Mine's the Daily Mail
of course and just a peep into Berjuolds before the
young gent on the first floor fi'ont. But you shouldn't
have it. Tizers your paper.'

' Tizer? ' said Victoria interrogatively.

^Morning Advertiser, mum; that's the one for
advertisements.'

' But how do you know I read the advertisments,
Miss Briggs ? ' asked Victoria still smiling.

' Oh, mum, excuse the liberty,' said Miss Briggs in
great trepidation. 'It's the only sheet I don't find
when I comes up to do the bed. Tizer s the one
for you, mum ; I had a young lady 'ere, once. Got
a job at the Inverness Lounge, she did. Married a
clergyman, they say. He's divorced her now.'

'That's an encouraging story, Miss Briggs,' said
Victoria with a twinkle in her eye. ' How do you
know I want to be a barmaid, though? '

' Oh, one has to be what one can, mimi,' said Miss
Briggs soiTowfully. ' Sure enough, it ain't all honey

A BED OF ROSES 77

and it ain't all jam keeping this house. The bells^
they rings all day and it's the breakfast that's Lad
and there ain't blankets enough, and I never 'ad a
scuttle big enough to please 'em for sixpence. But
YOU ain't doing that, mum,' she added after a pause
devoted to the consideration of her wrongs. ' A young
lady like you, she ought to be behind the bar.'

Victoria laughed aloud. ' Thanks for the hint,
Miss Briggs,' she said, 'I'll think it over. To-daj''
diowever, I'm going to try my luck on the stage.
What do you think of that ? '

' Going on tour ? ' cried Miss Briggs in a tone of
tense anxiety.

' Well, not yet,' said Victoria soothingly. ' I'm
going to see an agent.'

' Oh, that's all right,' said Miss Briggs with ghoulish
relief. ' Hope yer'll get a job,' she added as con-
fidently as a man offering a drink to a teetotaller.
At that moment a fearful clattering on the stairs
announced that Hetty and the pail had suddenly
descended to the lower landing. Liquid noises
followed. Miss Briggs rushed out. Victoria jumped
up and slammed her door on the chaotic scene. She
returned to the Telegraph. The last six weeks in the
Castle Street lodging house had taught her that these
were happenings c[uite devoid of importance.

Victoria spread out the Telegraph, ignored the
foreign news, the leaders and the shocking revelations
as to the Government's Saharan policy ; she dallied
for a moment over ' gowns for debutantes,' for she
was a true woman, and passed on to the advertise-
ments. She was getting quite experienced as a
reader and could sift the wheat from the chaff with
some accuracy. She knew that she could safely
ignore applications for lady helps in ' small families,'
at least unless she was willing to clean boots and
blacklead grates for five shillings a week and meals
when an opportunity occurred ; her last revelation as

78 A BED OF ROSES

to the nature of a post of lioiisekeeper to an elderly
gentleman who had retired from business into the
qiiietnde of Snrbiton had not been edifying. The
' Financial and Businesses ' column left her colder
than she had been Avhen she left Mrs Holt with nearly
thirty-seven pounds. Then she was a capitalist and
pondered longing]}^ over the proposals of tobacconists,
fancy goods firms and stationers who were prepared
to guarantee a fortune to any person who could
muster thirty pounds. Fortunately Miss Briggs had
imdeceived her. In her variegated experience, she
herself had surrendered some sixty golden sovereigns
to the persuasive owner of a flourishing newsagent's
business. After a few weeks of vain attempts to
induce the neighbourhood to indulge in the news of
the day, she had been glad to sell her stock of sweets
for eighteen shillings, and to take half a crown for a
Imndred penny novelettes.

Victoria turned to the ' Situations Vacant.' Their
numbers were deceptive. She had never realised
before how inany people live by fitting other people
for work they cannot get. Two thirds of the
advertisements offered wonderful opportunities for
sons of gentlemen in the offices of architects and
engineers on payment of a premium ; she also found
she could become a lady gardener if she would only
follow tlie courses in some dukery and, meanwhile,
live on air ; others would teach her shorthand, type-
writing or the art of the secretary. All these she
now calmly skipped. She was obviously imfitted to
be tlie matron of an asylum for the feeble-minded.
Such experience had not been hers, nor had she the
redoubtable record which would open the gates of
an emporium. An illegible hand would exclude her
from the City.

' No,' thought Victoria, * I'm an unskilled labourer ;
that's what I am.' She wearily skimmed the agencies ;
as a matter of habit noted the demand for two com-

A BED OF ROSES 79

panions and one nursery governess and put the paper
aside. There was not mucli hope in any of these, for
one was for Tiverton, the other for Cardiff, which
would make a personal interview a costly business ;
the third, discreetl}^ cloaked by an initial, suggested
by its terseness, a companionship probably undue in
its intimacy. The last six weeks had opened Victoria's
eyes to the unpleasant aspects of life, so much so that
she wondered whether there were any other. She
felt now that London was waiting for her outside,
waiting for her to have spent her last copper, when
she would come out to be eaten so that she might eat.

Whatever her conceit might have been six months
before, Victoria had lost it all. She could do nothing
that was wanted and desired everything she could
not get. She had tried all sources and found them
dry. Commercialism, philanthropy, and five per
cent, philanthropy had failed her. What can you do?
was their cry. And, the answer being 'nothing,'
their retort had been ' No more can we.'

Victoria turned over in her mind her interview
with the Honorary Secretary of the British Women's
Imperial Self Help Association. ' Of course,' said
the Secretary, ' we will be glad to register you. We
need some references and, as our principle is to foster
the independence and self-respect of those whom we
endeavour to place in positions such as may befit
their social status, we are compelled to demand a fee
of five shillings.'

' Oh, self help, I see,' said Victoria sardonically,
for she was beginning to understand the world.

' Yes,' replied the Honorary Secretary, oblivious of
the sneer, for his mind was cast in the parliamentary
mould, ' by adhering to our principle and by this
means only can we hope to stem the tide of pauperism
to which modern socialistic tendencies are — are —
spurring the masses.' Victoria had paid five shillings
for this immortal metaphor and within a week had

So A BED OF ROSES

received an invitation to attend a meeting presided
over by several countesses.

The B. W. I. S. H. A., (as it was called by its
intimates) had induced in Victoria suspicions of
societies in general. She had, howcA'er, applied also
to the Ladies' Provider. Its name left it in doubt
whether it provided ladies with persons or whether
it provided ladies to persons who might not
be ladies. The Secretary, in this case, was not
Honorary. The inwardness of this did not appear to
Victoria, for she did not then know that plain
secretaries are generally paid, and try to earn their
salary. Their interview had, however, not been such
as to convert her to the value of corporate effort.

The Secretary in this case was a woman of forty,
with a pink face, trim grey hair, spectacles, amorphous
clothing, capable hands. She exhaled an atmosphere
of respectability, and the faint odour of almonds
Avhich emanates from those women who eschew scent
in favour of soap. She had quietly listened to
Victoria's history, making every now and then a
sliorthand note. Then she had coughed gently once
or twice. Victoria felt as in the presence of an
examiner. Was she going to get a pass ?

' I do not say that we cannot do an^^thing for you,
!Mrs Fulton,' she said, ' but we have so many cases
similar to yours.'

Victoria had bridled a little at this. ' Cases ' was
a nasty word.

'I'm not particular,' she had answered, 'I'd be
a companion any day.'

' I'm sure you'd make a pleasant one,' said the
Secretary gi-aeioush^, ' but before we go any further,
tell me how it was you left your last place. You
were in the ... in the Finchley Road, was it not ? '
The Secretary's eyes travelled to a map of London
where Marylebone, South Paddington, Kensington,
Belgravia, and Mayfair, were blocked out in blue.

A BED OF ROSES 8r

Victoria liad liesitated, then fenced. 'Mrs liolt
will give me a good character,' she faltered.

'No doubt, no doubt,' replied the Secretary, her
eyes growing just a little darker behind the glasses.
' Yet, you see, we are compelled by the nature of our
business to make enquiries. A good reference is a very
good thing, yet people are a little careless sometimes ;
tlie hearts of employers are often rather soft.'

This was a little too much for Victoria. ' If 3'ou
want to know the truth,' she said bluntly, ' the son of
the house persecuted me with his attentions, and
I couldn't bear it.'

The Secretary made a shorthand note. Then she
looked at Victoria's flashing eyes, heightened colour,
thick piled hair.

'I am very sorr}^' she began lamely. . . .

What dreadful things women are, thought Victoria,
folding up the Telegraph. If Christ had said : Let
her who hath never sinned. . . Magdalen would have
been stoned. Victoria got up, went to the looking-
glass and inspected herself. Yes, she was very pretty.
She was prettier than she had ever been before.
Her skin was paler, her eyes larger ; her thick eye-
brows almost met in an exquisite gradation of short
dark hairs over the bridge of the nose. She watched
her breast rise and fall gently, flashing white through
the black lacework of her blouse, then falling away
from it, tantalising the faint sunshine that would kiss
it. As she turned, another looking-glass, set in the
lower panels of a small cupboard told her that her
feet were small and high arched. Her openwork
stockings were drawn so tight that the skin there also
gleamed white.

Victoria took from the table a dirty visiting card.
It bore the words ' Louis Carrel, Musical and
Theatrical Agent, 5 Soho Place.' She had come by
it in singular manner. Two days before, as she left
the offices of the ' Compleat Governess Agency ' after

F

82 A BED OF ROSES

having realised that she could not qualify in either
French, German, Music, Poker work or Swedish drill,
she had paused for a moment on the doorstep,
sui've.yi ng the ding}'- court where they were con-
cealed, the dirty panes of an unlet shop opposite,
the strange literature flaunting in the showcase of
some publisher of esoterics. A woman had come up
to her, rising like the loafers from the flagstones.
She had realised her as between ages and between
colours. Then the woman had disappeared as
suddenly as she came without having spoken, leaving
in A^ictoria's hand the little square of pasteboard.

Victoria looked at it meditatively. She would
have shrunk from the idea of the stage a year before,,
when the tradition of Lympton was still upon her.
But times had changed ; a simple philosophy was
growing in her; what did anything matter? would
it not be all the same in a hundred years? The
discovery of this philosophy did not strike her as
commonplace. There are but few who know that
this is the philosophy of the world.

Victoria put down the card and began to dress.
She removed the old black skirt and ragged lace
blouse and, as she stood before the glass in her short
petticoat, patting her hair and setting a comb, she
reflected with satisfaction that her arms were shapely
and white. She looked almost lovingly at the long
thin dark hairs, fine as silk, that streaked her fore-
arms ; she kissed them gently, moved to self-adoration
by the sweet scent of femininity that rose fi'om her.

She tore herself away from her self-worship and
quickly began to dress. She put on a light skirt in
serge, striped black and white, threading her head
through it with great care for fear she sliould damage
her fringe net. She drew on a white blouse, simple
enough though cheap. As it fastened along the side
she did not have to call in Miss Briggs, which was
fortunate as this was the time when Miss Briggs

A BED OF ROSES 83

carried coals. Victoria wriggled for a moment to
settle the uncomfortable boning of tlie neck and,
having buckled and belted the skirt over the blouse,
completed her toilet with her little black and white
jacket to match the skii-t. A tiny black silk cravat
for her neck was discarded, as she found that the
fashionable i-ufBe, emerging from the closed coat,
produced an e-ffet mousquetaire. Lastly she put on
her hat, a lapse fi'om the fashions perhaps, but a
lovable, flat, almost crownless, dead black, save
a vertical group of feathers.

Victoria drew her veil down, regretting the thick-
ness of the pods, pushed it np to repair with a dab
of powder the ravage of a pod on the tip of her nose.
She took Tip her parasol and white gloves, a glow of
excitement already creeping over her as she realised
how cleverly she must have caught the spirit of the
profession to look the actress to the life and yet
remain in the note of the demure widow.

Soho Place is neither one of the ' good ' streets nor
one of the ' bad.' The police do not pace it in twos
and thi-ees in broad daylight, yet they hardly like to
venture into it singly by night. On one side it
ends in a square; on the other it turns off into an
unobtrusive side street, the reputation of which varies
yard by yard according to the distance fi'om the main
roads. It is dirty, dingy, yet not without dignity,
for its good Georgian and Victorian houses preserve
some solidity and are not yet of the tenement class.
They are still in the grade of office and shop which
is immediately below their one time status of dwellings
for well-to-do merchants.

Victoria entered Soho Place from the square, so
that she was not too ill impressed. She walked in
the middle of the pavement, unconsciously influenced
by the foreign flavour of Soho. There men and
women stand all day in the street, talking, bargaining,
•quarrelling and making love ; when a cab rattles by

84 A BED OF ROSES

they move aside lazily, as a Neapolitan stevedore rolls
away on the wharf from the wheels of a passing
cart.

Victoria paused for a second on the steps. No 5
Soho Place was a good house enough. The ground
floor was occupied by a firm of auctioneers ; a gentle-
man describing himself as A.R.I.B.A. exercised his
profession on the third floor ; below his plate was
nailed a visiting-card similar to the one Victoria took
from her reticide. She went up the staircase feeling
a little braced by the respectability of the house,
though she had caught sight through the area railings
of an unspeakably dirty kitchen where unwashed pots
flaunted greasy remains on a liquor stained deal table.
The staircase itself, with its neutral and stained
green distemper, was not over encouraging. Victoria
stopped at the first landing. She had no need to
enquire as to the whereabouts of the impresario for,
on a door which stood ajar, was nailed another dirty
card. Just as she was about to push it, it opened
further to allow a girl to come out. She was very
fair ; her cheeks were a little flushed ; a golden lock
or two fell like keepsake ringlets on her low lace
collar. Victoria just had time to see that the blue
eyes sparkled and to receive a cheerful smile. The
girl muttered an apology and, smiling still, brushed
past her and lightly ran down the stairs. ' A success-
ful candidate,' thought Victoria, her heart rising
once more.

She entered the room and found it empty. It was
almost entirely bare of furniture, for little save an
island of chairs in the middle and faded red cloth
curtains relieved the uniform dirtiness of the wall
paper which once was flowered. One wall was
entirely covered by a large poster where half a dozen
impossibly chanuing girls of the biscuit box type were
executing a cancan so sj^mmetrically as to recall an
Eg}'ptian frieze. The mantlepiece was bare save for

A BED OF ROSES 85

the signed photograph of some magnificent foreign-
looking athlete, nude to the waist. Victoria waited
for a moment, watching a door which led into an inner
room, then Avent towards it. At once the sound of
a chair being pushed back and the fall of some small
article on the floor told her that the occupant had
heard her footsteps. The door oj^ened suddenly.

Victoria looked at the apparition with some surprise.
In a single glance she took in the details of his face
and clothes, all of which were pleasing. The man
was obviously a foreigner. His face was pale, clean
shaven save for a small black moustache closely
cropped at the ends ; his eyes were brown ; his eye-
brows, as beautifully pencilled as those of a girl,
ejnphasized the whiteness of his high forehead from
which the hair receded in thick waves. His lips, red
and full, were parted over his white teeth in a pleasant
smile. Victoria saw too that he was dressed in perfect
taste, in soft grey tweed, fitting well over the collar
and loose everywhere else ; his linen was immaculate ;
in fact nothing about him woidd have disgraced the
Chandraga mess, except perhaps a gold ring with a
large diamond which he wore on the little finger of
his right hand.

' Mr Carrel ? ' said Victoria in some trepidation.

' Yes, Mademoiselle,' said the man pleasantly.
' Will you have the kindness to enter ? ' He held the
door open and Victoria, hesitating a little, preceded
him.

The inner room was almost a replica of the outer.
It too was scantily furnished. On a large table heaps
of dusty papers were stacked . An ash-tray overflowed
over one end. In a corner stood a rickety-looking
piano. The walls were profusely decorated with
posters and photographs, presumabl}^ of actors and
actresses, some highly renowned. Victoria felt respect
creeping into her soul.

Carrel placed a chair for her before the table and

86 A BED OF ROSES

resumed his o-\vn. For the space of a second or two
he looked Victoria over. She was a little too conscious
of his scrutiny to be quite at her ease, but she was
not afraid of the verdict.

' So, Mademoiselle,' said the man gently, ' you wish
for an engagement on the stage ? '

Victoria had not expected such directness. ' Yes,
I do,' she said. ' That is, I was thinking of it since
I got your card.'

' My card ? ' said Carrel, raising his eyebrows a
little. ' How did you get my card ? '

Victoria told him briefly how the card had been
thrust into her hand, how curious it was and how
surprised she had been as she did not know the
woman and had never seen her again. Then she
frankly confessed that she had no experience of the
stage but wanted to earn her living and that ....
She stopped aghast at the tactical error. But CaiTel
was looking at her fixedly, a smile playing on his lips
as he pulled his imy moustache with his jewelled
hand.

' Yes, certainly, T understand,' he said. ' Experi-
ence is very useful, naturally. But j^ou must begin
and you know : il n'y a que le premie?' pas qui coute.
Now perhaps you can sing? It would be very
useful.'

' Yes, I can sing,' said Victoria doubtfully, suppress-
ijig ' a little,' remembering her first mistake.

' Ah, that is good,' said Carrel smiling. ' Will you
sit down to the piano? I have no music; ladies
always bring it but do you not know something by
heart ? '

Victoria got up, her heart beating a little and went
to the piano. ' I don't know anything French,' she
said.

' It does not matter,' said Carrel, ' j^ou will learn
easily.' He lowered the piano stool for her. As she
sat doAvn the side of his head brushed her shoulder

A BED OF ROSES 87

lightly. A faint scent of heliotrope rose from his
hair.

Victoria dragged off her gloves nervously, felt for the
pedals and with a voice that trembled a little sang
two ballads which had always pleased Lympton. The
piano was frightfully out of tune. Everything con-
spired to make her nervous. It was only when she
struck the last note that she looked at the impresario.

' Very good, very good,' cried Carrel. ' Magnifique.
^Mademoiselle, you have a beautifl^l voice. You will
be a great success at Vichy.'

' Vichy ? ' echoed Victoria, a little over-whelmed, hj
his approval of a voice which she knew to be quite
ordinary.

' Yes, I have a troupe to sing and dance at Vichy
and in the towais, Clermont Ferrand, Lyon, everywhere.
I will engage you to sing and dance,' said Carrel, his
dark eyes sparkling.

' Oh, I can't dance,' cried Mctoria despairingly.

' But I assure you, it is not difficult,' said Carrel.
' We will teach you. There, I will show you the
contract. As you have not had much experience my
syndicate can only pay you one hundred and fifty
francs a month. But we will pay the expenses and
the costumes.'

Victoria looked doubtful for a moment. To sing,
to dance, to go to France where she had never been,
all this was sudden and momentous.

' Voyons,' said Carrel, ' it will be quite easy. I am
taking four English ladies with you and two do not
understand the tlieatre. You will make more money
if the audience like you. Here is the contract.' He
drew a printed sheet out of the drawer and handed
it to her.

It was an impressive document with a heavj^ head-
line : Troupe du Theatre Anglais. It bore a French
revenue stamp and contained half-a-dozen clausres
in French which she struggled through painfully ;

88 A BED OF ROSES

she could only guess at their meaning. So far as
she could see she was bound to sing and dance
according to the programme which was to be fixed
by the Direeteiir, twice every day including Sundays.
The syndicat undertook to pay the railway fares and
to provide costumes. She hesitated, then crossed
the Rubicon.

' Fill in the blanks, please,' she said unsteadily.
' I accept.'

Carrel took up a pen and wrote in the date and
cent cinquaiite francs. ' What name will you adopt ? '
he asked, ' and what is your own name ? '

Victoria hesitated, ' M.y name is Victoria Fulton,'
she said. ' You may call me . . . Aminta Ormond.'

Carrel smiled once more, ' Aminta Ormond ? I
do not think you will like that. It is not English,
It is like Amanda. No ! I have it, Gladys Oxford,
it is excellent.'

Before she could protest he had begun writing.
After all, what did it matter? She signed the docu-
ment without a word.

' Voila,' said Carrel smoothly, locking the drawer
on the contract, ' We leave from Charing Cross oil
Wednesday evening. So you have two days to
prepare yourself. Mo7isieur le Directeur will meet
you under the clock at a quarter past eight. The
train leaves at nine. We will take your ticket when
you arrive. Please come here at four on Wednesday
anrl I will introduce you to the Directeur.'

Victoria got up and mechanically shook hands.
Carrel opened the door for her and ceremoniously
bowed her out. Slie walked into Soho place as in a
dream, every pulse in her body thrilling with
unwonted adventure. She stared at a dirty window
pane and wondered at the brilliance it threw back
from her eyes.

CHAPTER XII

Victoria had forgotten her latchkey. Miss Briggs
opened the door for her. Her sallow face
brightened np.

'There's a gentleman waiting, mum,' she said, and
' 'ere's a telegram.' Came jest five minntes after you
left. I've put him in the front room what's empty,
mtmi. Thought you'd rather see him there. Been
'ere 'arf an 'our, mum.'

Victoria did not attempt to disentangle the hours
of arrival of the gentleman and the telegram ; she
tore open the brown euA^elope excitedly. It only
heralded the coming of Edward who was doubtless
the gentleman.

' Thanks, Miss Briggs,' she said, ' it's my brother.'

' Yes, mum, nice young gentleman. He's all
right ; been reading the New Age, mum, this 'arf
hour, what belongs to the lady on the third.'

Victoria smiled and went into the dining-room,
where none dine in lodging houses save ghosts.
Edward was standing near the mantlepiece immersed
in the paper.

'Why, Ted, this is nice of you,' cried Victoria
going up to him and taking his hand.

' I had to come up to town suddenly,' said Edward,
' to get books for the Head. I'm going back this
afternoon but I thought I'd look you up. Did you
get the telegram.'

' Just got it now,' said Victoria, showing it, ' so
you might have saved the sixpence.'

89

90 A BED OF ROSES

' I'm sorry,' said Edward. ' I didn't know until
this morning,'

' It doesn't matter. I'm so glad to see you.'

There was an awkward pause. Edward brushed
away the hair from his forehead. His hands flew
back to his watch-chain. Victoria had briefly
^\Titten to him to tell him why she left the Holts.
Fearful of all that touches women, he was acutely
conscious that he blamed her and yet knew her to
be blameless.

' It's a beautiful day,' he said suddenly.

' Isn't it ? ' agreed Victoria, looking at him with
surprise. There was another pause.

' What are you doing just now, Vic ? ' Edward
breathed more fi'eely, having taken the plunge.

' I've just got some work,' said Victoria. ' I begin
on Wednesday.'

' Oh, indeed ? ' said Edward with increasing interest.
* Have you got a post as companion ? '

' Well, not exactly,' said Victoria. She realised
that her story was not very easy to tell a man like
Edward. He looked at her sharply. His face flushed.
His brow puckered. With both hands he grasped
his watch-chain.

' I hope, Victoria,' he said severely, ' that you are
not adopting an occupation unworthy of a lady, I
mean I know you couldn't,' he added, his severity
melting into nervousness.

' I suppose nothing's unworthy,' said Victoria ; ' the
fact is, Ted, I'm afi-aid you won't like it much, but
I'm going on tlio stage.'

Edward started and flushed like an angry boy. ' On
the . . . the stage ? ' he gasped.

' Yes,' said Victoria quietly. ' I've got an engage-
ment for six months to play at Vichy and other places
in France. I onlj'- get six pounds a month but they
pay all the expenses. ' I'll have quite thirty pounds
clear when I come back. What do you think of that ? '

A BED OF ROSES 91

* It's . . . it's awful.' cried Edward losing all self-
consciousness. ' How can you do such a thing, Vic ?
If it were in London, it would be different. You
simply can't do it.'

'Can't?' asked Victoria, raising her eyebrows,
'Why?'

' It's not done. No really Vic, you can't do it/
Edward was evidentlj^ disturbed. Fancy a sister of
liis ... It was preposterous.

'I'm sorry, Ted,' said Victoria, 'but I'm going on
Wednesday. Vve signed the agreement.'

Edward looked at her almost horror struck. His
spectacles had slid down to the sharp tip of his
nose.

' You are doing very wrong, Victoria,' he said,
resuming his pedagogic gravity. 'You could have
done nothing that I should have disapproved of as
much. You should have looked out for something else.'

' Looked out for something else ? ' said Victoria
with the suspicion of a sneer. ' Look here, Ted. I
know you mean well, but I know what I'm doing ;
I haven't been in London for six months without
finding out that life is hard on women like me. I'm
no good because I'm too good for a poor job and not
suitable for a superior one. So I've just got to do
what I can.'

' Why didn't you try for a post as companion ? '
asked Edward with a half snarl.

' Try indeed ! Anybody can see you ha Aren't had
to try, Ted. I've tried everything I could think of,
agencies, societies, papers, everj-thing. I can't get
a post. I must do something. I've got to take what I
can get. I know it now ; we women are just raw
material. The world uses as much of us as it needs
and throws the rest on the scrap heap. Do you think
I don't keep my eyes open ? Do you think I don't
see that when you want somebody to do double work
at half rates you get a woman ? And she thanks God

92 A BED OF ROSES

and straggles for the work that's too dirty or too hard
for a man to touch.'

Victoria paced up and down the small room, carried
away by her vehemence. Edward said nothing. He
was much upset and did not know what to say ; he
had never seen Victoria like this and he was con-
stitutionally afraid of vigour.

'I'm sorrj^ Tel,' said Victoria stopping suddenly.
She laid her liand on his sleeve. ' There, don't sulk
with rae. Let's go out to lunch and I'll go and choose
your books with you after. Is it a bargain ? '

' I don't want to discuss the matter again,' replied
Edward with as much composure as he could muster.
'Yes, let's go out to lunch.'

The rest of the day passed without another word on
the subject of Victoria's downfall. She saw Edward
off at St Pancras. After he had said good-bye to her,
he suddenly leaned out of the window of the railway
carriage as if to speak, then changed his mind and
Bank back on the seat. Victoria smiled at her victory.

Next morning she broke the news to Miss Briggs.
The landlady seemed amazed as well as concerned.

* You seem rather taken aback,' said Victoria.

* Well, mum, you see it's a funny thing the stage ;
young ladies all seems to think it's easy to get on.
And tlion they don't get on. And there you are.'

' Well I am on,' said Victoria, ' so I shall have to
leave on Wednesday.'

' Sorry to lose you, mum,' said Miss Biiggs. ' 'ope
yer'U 'ave a success. In course, as you 'aven't given
me notice, mum, it'll 'ave to be a week's money more.'

' Oil, come Miss Briggs, this is too bad,' cried
Victoria, 'why you've got a whole floor vacant!
What would it have mattered if I had given you
notice ? '

' ]\Iight have let it, mum. Besides it's the law,'
said Miss Briggs, placing her arms akimbo, ready for
the fray.

A BED OF ROSES 93

' Veiy well then,' said Victoria coldly, * don't let's
say anything more about it.'

Miss Briggs looked at her critically. ' No offence
meant, mum,' she said timidly, ' it's a 'ard life,
lodgers.'

' Indeed ? ' said Victoria without any show of
interest.

' You wouldn't belicA^e it, mum, all I've got to put
up with. There's Hetty now . . .'

' Yes, yes, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria impatiently,
' 3'ou've told me about Hetty.'

' To be sure, mum,' replied Miss Briggs, humbly.
'It ain't easy to make ends meet. What with the
rent and them Borough Council rates. There ain't
no end to it, mum. I lives in the basement, mmn,
and that means gas all the afternoon, mum.'

Victoria looked at her again. This was a curious
outlook. The poor troglodyte had translated the
glory of the sun into cubic feet of gas.

' Yes, I suppose it is hard,' she said reflectively.

'To be sure, mum,' mused Miss Briggs. 'Some-
times you can't let at all. I've watched through the
area railings, mum, many a long day in August,
wondering if the legs I can see was coming 'ere.
They don't mostly, mum.'

' Then why do j'Ou go on ? ' asked Victoria harden-
ing suddenly.

'What am I to do, mum? I just gets my board
and lodging out of it, mum. Keeps one respectable ;
always been respectable, mum. That ain't so easy in
I^ondon, mum. Ah, when I was a young girl, might
have been different, mmn ; you should have seen me
'air. Curls like anything, mum, when I puts it in
papers. 'Ad a bit of a figure too, mum.'

' Deary me ! '

Victoria looked with sympathy at the hard thin
face, the ragged hair. Yes, she was respectable
enough, poor Miss Briggs. Women have a hard

^4 A BED OF ROSES

life. No -wonder tliey too are liai'd. You cannot
afford to be earthenware among tlie brass pots.

' What will you do when you can't run the house
any more ? ' she asked more gently.

' Do mum ? I dunno.'

Yet another philosophy.

' Miss Briggs,' came a man's voice from the stairs.

' Coming, sir,' yelled Miss Briggs in the penetrating
tone that calling from cellar to attic teaches.

' Where are my boots ? ' said the voice on the stairs.

' I'll get 'em for you, sir,' cried Miss Briggs
shuffling to the door on her worn slippers.

Life is a hard thing, thought Victoria again.
Another woman for the scrap heap. Fourteen hours
work a day, nightmares of unlet rooms, boots to
black and coals to carry, dirt, loneliness, harsh words
and at the end ' I dunno.' Is that to be my fate ?
she wondered.

However her blood soon raced again ; she was an
actress, she was going abroad, she was going to see
the world, to enslave it, to have adventures, live.
It was good. All that day Victoria trod on air. She
no longer felt her loneliness. The sun was out and
aglow, bringing in its premature exuberance joyful
moisture to her temples. She, with the world, was
young. In a fit of extravagance she lunched at a
half croAvn table d'hote in Oxford Street, where pink
shades softly diffuse the light on shining glass and
silver. The coffee was ahnost regal, so strong, so full
of sap. The light of triumph was in her eyes, making
men turn back, sometimes follow and look into her
face, half ajjpealing, half insolent. But Victoria was
unconscious of them, for the world was at her feet.
She wap- the axis of the earth. It was in such a frame
of mind that, the next day, she climbed the steps of
Soho Place, careless of the view into the underground
kitchen, of the two dogs who, under the archway
fought, growling, fouling the air with the scents of their

A BED OF ROSES 95

hides, over a piece of offal. She ran up the stairs
hghtly. The door was still ajar.

Two men Avere sitting in the anteroom, both
smoking briar pipes. The taller of the two got up.

' Yes ? ' he said interrogatively^

* I . . . you ... is Mr Carrel here ? ' asked
Victoria nervously.

'No Miss,' said the man calmly, 'he's just gone to
Marlborough Street.'

' Oh,' said Victoria, still nervous, ' will he be long ? '

' I should say so, miss,' replied the man, ' perhaps
twelve months, perhaps more.'

Victoria gasped. 'I don't understand,' she said,
but her heart began to beat.

'Don't s'pose you would, miss,' said the short man,
getting up. ' Fact is, miss, we're the police and
we've had to take him; just about time we did too.
Leaving for France to-night with a batch of girls.
S'pose you're one of them ? '

' I was going to-night,' said Victoria faintly.

' May I have your name ? ' asked the tall man
politely, taking out a pocket book.

' Fulton,' she faltered. ' Victoria Fulton.'

'M'yes, that's it. Gladys Oxford,' said the tall
man turning back a page. 'Well, Miss, you can
thank your stars you're out of it.'

' But what has he done ? ' asked Victoria with an
effort.

' Lord, Miss, you're from the country, I can see,'
said the short man amiably. ' I thought everybody
knew that little game. Take you over to Vichy, you
know. Make you dance and sing. Provide
costumes.' He winked at his companion.

' Costumes,' said Victoria, ' what do you mean ? '

' Costumes don't mean much, Miss, over there,' said
the tall man. ' Fact is you'd have to wear what they
like and sing what they hke when j'ou pass the plate
round among the customers.'

96 A BED OF ROSES

Something seemed to freeze in Victoria.

' He said it was a theatre of varieties,' she gasped.

'Quite true,' said the tall man with returning
cynicism. ' A theatre right enough, but you'd have
supplied the variety to the customers.'

Victoria clenched her hands on the handle of her
parasol. Then she turned to fly.

The short man stopped her and demanded her
address, informing her that she was to attend at
^Marlborough Street next day at eleven thirty.

'Case mayn't be called before twelve,' he added.
'Sorry to trouble you, Miss. You won't hear any
more about it unless it's a case for the Sessions.'

Victoria ran down the steps, through the alley and
into Charing Cross Road as if something was tracking
her, tracking her down. So this was the end of the
dream. vShe had stretched her hand out to the roses,
and the gods, less merciful to her than to Tantalus, had
filled her palm with thorns. It was horrible, horrible,
iSlie had imagination, and a memory of old prints after
Itowlandson which her father had treasured came
back to her with almost nauseating force. She
]iictured the French caf^ chantant like the Cave of
I larniony ; rougli boards on trestles, laden with
tankards of foaming beer, muddy lights, a foidness of
tobacco smoke, a raised stage with an enormous
Avoman singing on it, her eye frightfull}^ dilated by
belladonna, her massive arms and legs gleaming
behind tlie dirty footlights and everywhere around
men smoking, with noses like snouts, bodies like
hwine's, haiiy hands, hands ye gods !

She walked quickly away from the place of revela-
tion. Slie hurried through the five o'clock inferno of
Ti-ifalgar Square, careless of the traffic, escaping
death ten times. She hurried down the spaces of
AVhitehall, and only slackened her pace at West-
minster Bridge. There she stopped for a moment;
tlie sun was setting and gilded and empurpled the

A BED OF ROSES 97

foreshores. The horror of the past half hour seemed
to fade away as she watched the roses and mauves
bloom and blend ; the deep shadows of the embank-
ments rise and fall. Near by, a vagrant, eveiy inch
of him clothed in rags, the dirt of his face mimicking
their colour, smoked a short clay pipe, puffing at long
intervals small wreaths of smoke into the blue air.
And as Victoria watched them form, rise and vanish
into nothingness, the sun kiss gently but pitilessly
the old vagrant hunched up against the parapet, the
horror seemed to melt away. The peace of the
evening was expelling it, but another dread visitor
was heralded in. Victoria felt like lead in her heart,
the return of uncertainty. Once more she was an
outcast. No work. Once more she must ask herself
what to do and find no answer.

The river glittered and rose and fell, as if inviting
her. Victoria shuddered. It was not yet time for
that. She turned back and, with downcast eyes,
made for St James' Park. There she sat for a
moment watching a pelican flop on his island, the
waterfowl race and dive. The problem of life was
upon her now and where was the solution ? Must I
tread the mill once more ? thought Victoria. The
vision of agencies again, of secretaries courteous or
rude, of waits and hopes and despairs, all rushed at
her and convinced her of the uselessness of it all.
She was alone, always alone, because she wanted to
be free, to be happy, to live. Perhaps she had be^n
A^Tong after all to resist the call of the river. She
shuddered once more. A couple passed her with
liands interlocked, eyes gazing into eyes. No, life
must hold forth to her something to make it worth
while. She was cold. She got up and, with nervous
determination, walked quickly towards the gate.

The first thing to be done was to get quit of all the
horrors of the day, to cut away the wreckage. She
dared not staj'' at Castle Street. She would be

G

98 A BED OF ROSES

tracked. She would liave to give evidence. She
couldn't do it. She couldn't. Victoria having re-
gained her coolness was in no wise uncertain as to her
course of action. The first thing to do was for her to
lose herself in London, and that so deep that none
could drag her out and force her to tell her story.
She must change her lodgings then. Nothing could
be easier, as she had already given Miss Briggs
notice. In fact the best thing to do would be to keep
up the fiction of her departure for France.

I

CHAPTER XIII

Victoria entered her room. It was in the condition
that speaks of departnre. Her trnnks were packed
and corded, all save a small suitcase which still
gaped, showing spaces among the sundries that the
skilled packer collects in the same bundle. Every
drawer was open ; the bed was unmade ; the room
was littered with newspapers and nondescript articles
discarded at the last moment. Victoria rang her beU
and quickly finished packing the suitcase with soap,
washing gloves, powder-pufEe and such like. As she
tm-ned the key Miss Briggs opened the door.

' Oh, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria quietly, ' I find
that I must go down by an earlier train ; I must be
at Charing Cross in an hour ; I'm going now.'

' Yes, mum,' said Miss Briggs without interest.
* Shall I tell the gi-eengrocer to come now, mum ? '

' Yes please. Miss Briggs ; here are the seven
sliillings.'

Miss Briggs accepted the money without a word.
It had formed the basis of a hot argument between
her and her tenant ; she considered herself entitled
to one week's rent in lieu of notice but Victoria's new
born sense of business had urged the fact that she
had had two days notice ; this had saved her three
shillings. Miss Briggs laboured under a sense of
injury, so she did not see Victoria to the door.

This was well, for Victoria was able to pay the
greengrocer and to get rid of him in an artistic
manner by sending him to post an empty envelope

99

loo A BED OF ROSES

addressed to an imaginary person, while slie directed
the cabman to Paddington ; this saved her awkward
questions and wonkl leave Miss Briggs imder the
impression that she had gone to Charing Cross.

At Paddington station she left her luggage in the
cloakroom and went out to find lodgings. Her quest
was short, for she had ceased to be particular, so that
within an hour she was installed in an imposing
ground floor front in the most respectable house in
Star Street. The district was not so refined as
Portsea Place, but the house seemed clean and the
quarters were certainly cheaper ; eleven and six
covered both them and the usual brealdast.

Victoria surveyed the room in a friendly manner ;
there was nothing attractive or repulsive in it ; it
was clean ; the furniture was almost exactly similar
to that which gi-aced her lodgings in Portsea Place
and in Castle Street. The landlady seemed a friendly
body and had already saved Victoria a drain on her
small store by sending her son, an out-of-work
furrier's hand, to fetch the luggage in a handcart.
Remembering that she was a fugitive from justice
she gave her name as Miss Ferris.

Victoria returned from a hurried tea, unpacked
\^'ith content the trunk that should have followed
her to France. She Avas almost exhilarated by the
feeling of safety which enveloped her hke comforting
warmth. The day was blithe in unison. She felt
quite safe, every movement of her flight having been
60 skilfully calculated ; she was revelling therefore
in lier escape from danger, the deepest and truest of
all joys.

The next morning, however, found her in the
familiar mood of wondering what was to become of
her. After an extremely inferior breakfast which
brought down upon the already awed Mrs Smith
well deserved reproaches, Victoria investigated the
Telegraph columns with the usual negative result and.

A BED OF ROSES loi

in the resultant acid frame of mind, went through
her accounts and discovered that her possessions
amounted to twelve pounds, eiglit shillings and four
pence. This was a terrible blow ; the outfit for the
interview with Carrel and the trij) to France had dug
an enormous hole in Victoria's resources.

' I must hurry up and find something,' said Victoria
to herself. 'Twelve pounds eight and fourpence —
say twelve weeks — and then ? '

The next morning reconciled her a little to her
fate. True the paper yielded no help, but a lengthy
account of Carrel's preliminary examination occupied
three quarters of a column in the police court report.
It was apparently a complicated case, for Carrel had
been remanded and bail refused. The report did
not yield her much information. Apparently Carrel
was indicted for other coimts than the exporting of
the dancing girls to Vichy, for nine women had
appeared. Victoria had quite a thrill of horror when
she read the line in which the well schooled reporter
dismissed the evidence of Miss 'S,' by saying that

' Miss S here gave an account of her experience

in the green room of the Folichon-Palace in 1902.'
The baldness of the statement was appalling in its
suggestiveness. She had been called apparently,
but no comment was made on her non-appearance.

'That's all over,' said Victoria with decision,
throwing the newspaper down. She rose from the
armchair, shook herself and opened the window to
let oiit the smell of breakfast. Then she put on her
hat and gloves and decided to have a walk to cheer
herself up. Mindful that she was in a sense a
fugitive she avoided the Marble Arch and made for
the Park through the desolate respectability of
Lancaster Gate.

She made for the South East, unconsciously guided
by the hieratic shot tower of Westminster. It was
early ; the freshness of May still bejewelled with dew

I02 A BED OF ROSES

drops the crisp ne^x grass ; tlie gravel, stained dark
by moisture hardly crunched under her feet, but gave
like spring}^ turf. Forgetting her depleted exchequer
Victoria stepped briskly as if on business bent,
looking at nothing but absorbing as through her
skin the kisses of the western Avind. At Hyde Park
Corner she turned into St James' Park and, passing
the barracks, received with an old familiar thrill
a covert smile from the handsome sentry. After all
she was young and it was good somehow to be once
more smiled at by a soldier. Soldiers, soldiers, stupid
perhaps, but could one help liking them ? Victoria
let her thoughts run back to Dicky, poor old wasted
Dicky, and the Colonel and his liver, and Bobb}^
who would never be anything but Bobby, and Major
Cairns too. Victoria felt a tiny pang as she thought
of the Major. He was hardly young or handsome
but strong, reassuring. She suddenly felt his lips
on her neck again as she gazed rapidly at the dark
lift on the horizon of the coast of Arab3^ He was
a good fellow, the Major. She would like to meet
him again.

She had reached Westminster Bridge. Her thoughts
fell away from the comfortable presence of Major
Cairns. Hunched up against the parapet sat the old
vagrant she had seen there before, motionless, his
rags lifting in the breeze, puffs of smoke coming at
long intervals from his short clay pipe. Victoria
shuddered ; it seemed as if her life were bound to
a wheel whicli brought her back inexorably to the
same spot until t]ie time came for her to lose there
energy and life itself. She turned quickly towards
the Embankment and, as she rounded the curve,
caught a glimpse of the old vagrant. The symbol
of time had not moved.

Another twenty minutes of quick walking had
brought her to the City. She was no longer fearful
of it ; indeed she almost enjoyed its surge and roar.

A BED OF ROSES 103

Log that she was, tossed on a stormy sea, she could
not help feeling the joy of life in its buffeting. Not
even the dullness and eternal length of Queen Victoria
Street which seems in the City, like Gower Street,
indefinite and interminable, robbed her of the curious
exultation which she felt whenever she entered the
precincts. Here at least was life and doing, ugly
doing perhaps, but things worthy of the name of
action. At Mansion House she stoi)ped for a moment
to look at the turmoil, drays, motorbuses, cabs,
cycles, entangled and threatening everywhere the
little running black mites of humanity.

As Victoria passed the Bank and walked up Princes
Street she felt hungry, for it was nearly one o'clock.
She turned up a lane and stopped before a small
shop which arrested her attention by its name above
the door. It was called 'The Rosebud Cafe,' every
letter of its name being made up of tiny roses ; all
the woodwork was painted white ; the door was
glazed and faced with pink curtains ; pink half
blinds lined the two small windows, nothing ap-
pearing through them except, right and left, two tall
palms. ' The Rosebud ' had a freshness and newness
that pleased her and, as it boldly announced luncheons
and teas, she pushed the white door open and entered.
The room was larger than the outside gave reason to
think, for it was all in depth. It was pretty in a
style suggesting a combination of Watteau, Dresden
China, and the top of a biscuit tin. All the woodwork
was white, relieved here and there by pink drapery
and cimningly selected water colours of more or less
the same tint. From the roof, at close intervals, hung
little baskets of paper roses. The back part of the
room was glazed over, which showed that it lay
below the well of a tall building. Symmetrically
ranged were little tables, some large enough for four
persons, mostly however meant for two, but Victoria
noticed that they were all untenanted ; in fact the

104 A BED OF ROSES

room was empty save for a woman wlio, on her hands
and knees, was loudly washing the upper steps of
a staircase leading into a cellar and a tall girl who
stood on a ladder at the far end of the room critically
surveying a picture she had just put up.

Victoria hesitated for a moment. The girl on the
ladder looked round and jumped down. She was
dressed in severe black out of which her long
white face, mantling pink at the cheeks, emerged
like a flower; indeed Victoria wondered whether she
had been selected as an attendant because she was
in harmony with the colour scheme of the shop. The
girl was quite charming out of sheer insignificance ;
her fair hair untidily crowned her with a halo marred
by flying wisps. Her little pink mouth, perpetually
open and pouting querulous over three white upper
teeth, showed annoyance at being disturbed.

' We aren't open,' she said with much decision. It
was clearly quite bad enough to have to look forward
to work on the morrow without anticipating the evil.
'Oh,' said Victoria, 'I'm sorry, I didn't know.'
' We open on Monday,' said the fair girl. ' Sharp.'
*Yes?' answered Victoria vaguely interested as
one is in things newly born. ' This is a pretty place,
isn't it?'

A flicker of animation. The fair girl's blue eyes
opened wider. 'Rather,' she said. 'I did the
water colours,' she explainefl with pride.

' IIow clever of you ,' exclaimed Victoria. ' I couldn't
draw to save my life.'

' Coloured them up, I mean,' the girl apologised
grudgingly. ' It was a long job, I can tell you.'

Victoria smiled. 'Well,' she said, 'I must come
back on Monday and see it finished if I'm in the City.'
'Oh, aren't you in the City?' asked the girl.
'WefttEnd?'

' No, not exactly West End,' said Victoria. ' I'm
not doing anything just now.'

A BED OF ROSES 105

The fair girl gave her a glance of faint suspicion.

' Oh, aye, I see,' she said slowly, thoughtfully
considering the rather full lines of Victoria's figui-e.

Victoria had not the slightest idea of what she saw.
'I'm looking out for a berth,' she remarked casually.

' Oh, are you ? ' said the girl with renewed anima-
tion. ' What's your line ? '

' Anything,' said Victoria. She looked round the
pink and white shop. A feeling of weariness had
suddenly come over her. The woman at the top of
the steps had backed away a little and was rhythmic-
ally swishing a wet rag on the linoleum. Under her
untidy hair her neck gleamed red and fleshy, touched
here and there with beads of perspiration. Victoria
took her in as unconsciously as she would an ox
patiently straining at the yoke. To and fro the
woman's body rocked, like a machine wound up to
work until its parts drop out worn and useless.

' Ever done any waiting?' The voice of the girl
almost made Victoria jump. She saw herself being
critically inspected.

' No, never,' she faltered. ' That's to say, I would,
if I got a billet.'

' jVIm,' said the girl, eyeing her over. ' Mm '

Victoria's heart beat unreasonably. ' Do you know
where I can get a job ? ' she asked.

* Well,' said the girl very deliberately, ' the fact of
the matter is, that we're short here. We had a letter
this morning. One of our girls left home yesterday.
Says she can't come. They don't know where she is.'

' Yes,' said Victoria, too excited to speculate as to
the implied tragedy.

'If you like, you can see the manager,' said the
girl. ' He's down there.' She pointed to the cellar.

* Thank you so much,' said Victoria, ' it's awfully
kind of you.' The fair girl walked to the banisters.
' Mr Stein,' she cried shiilly into the darkness.

There was a rumble, a sound like the upsetting of

io6 A BED OF ROSES

a chair, footsteps on the stairs. A head appeared on
a level with the floor.

' Vat is it ? ' growled a voice.

' New girl ; wants to be taken on.'

' Veil, take her on,' growled the voice. ' You are
ze 'ead vaitress, gn, you are responsible.'

Victoria just had time to see the head, perfectly-
round, short-haired, white faced, cloven by a turned
up black moustache, when it vanished once more.
The Germanic ' gn ' at the end of the first sentence
puzzled her.

' Sulky beast,' munnured the girl. ' Anyhow, that's
settled. You know the wages, don't you? Eight
bob a week and your lunch and tea.'

' Eight . . . ' gasped Victoria. ' But I can't live
on that.'

' My, you are a green 'un,' smiled the girl. ' With
a face like that you'll make twenty-five bob in tips by
the time we've been on for a month.' She looked
again at Victoria, not unkindly.

'Tips,' said Victoria reflectively. Awful. But
after all, what did it matter.

' All right,' she said, ' put me down.'

The girl took her name and address. ' Half-past
eight sharp on Monday,' she said, ' 'cos it's opening
day. Usual time half-past nine, off at four two days
a week. Other days seven. Nine o'clock mid and
end.'

Victoria stared a little. This was a business
woman.

* Sorry,' said the girl, 'must leave you. Got a lot
more to do to-day. My name's Laura. It'll have to
be Lottie though. Nothing like Lottie to make
fellows remember you.'

' Remember you? ' asked Victoria puzzled.

'Lord, yes, how you going to make your
station if they don't remember you?' said Lottie
snappishly. 'You'll learn right enough. You let

A BED OF ROSES 107

'em call you Vic. Tell 'em to. You'll be all right.
And get yourself a black business dress. We supply
pink caps and aprons ; charge you sixpence a week
for washing. You get a black openwork blouse,
mind you, with short sleeves. Nothing like it to
make your station.'

' What's a station ? ' asked Victoria, more be-
wildered than ever,

' My, you are a green 'un ! A station's your
tables. Five you get. We'll cut 'em down when
they begin to come in. What you've got to do
is to pal up with the fellows ; then they'll stick
to you, see ? Regulars is what you want. The sort
that give no trouble 'cos you know their orders right
off and leave their twopence like clockwork, see?
But never you mind : you'll learn.' Thereupon
Lottie tactfully pushed Victoria towards the door.

Victoria stepped past the cleaner, who was now
\vashing the entrance. Nothing could be seen of
her save her back heaving a little in a filthy blue
bodice and her hands, large, red, ribbed with flowing
rivulets of black dirt and water. As her left hand
swung to and fro, Victoria saw upon the middle
finger the golden strangle of a wedding ring deep in
the red cavity of the swollen flesh.

CHAPTER XIV

* You come back with me, Vie, don't yon ? '

' You silly,' said Victoria, witheringly, ' I don't go
off to-day, Gertie, worse luck.'

' Worse luck ! I don't think,' cried Gertie. ' I'll
swap with you, if you like. As if yer didn't know
it's settling day. Why there's two and a kick
in it ! '

' Shut it,' remarked a fat, dark girl, placidly
helping herself to potatoes, ' some people make a
sight too much out of settling day.'

' Perhaps yer'll tell me wot yer mean, Miss Prodgitt,'
snarled Gertie, her brown eyes flashing, her cockney
accent attaining a heroic pitch.

' What I say,' remarked ]\Iiss Prodgitt, with the
patronising air that usually accompanies this en-
lightening answer.

'Ho, irdeed,' snapped Gertie, 'then p'raps yer'll
keep wot yer've got ter sye to yerself, Miss Prodgitt.'

The fat girl opened her mouth, then, changing
her mind, turned to Victoria and informed her
tliat the weather was very cold for the time of the
year.

' That'll do, Gertie,' remarked Lottie, ' you leave
Bella alone and hook it.'

Gertie glowered for a moment, wasted another
look of scorn on her opponent and flounced out of
the room into a cupboard-like dark place, whence
issued sounds like the growl of an angry cat. Some-
thing had obviously happened to her hat.

jo8

A BED OF ROSES 109

Victoria looked round aimlessly. She Lad no
appetite, for half-past three, the barbarous lunch hour
of the Rosebud girls, seemed calculated to limit the
food bill. By her side Bella was conscientiously
absorbing the potatoes that her daintier comj)anions
had left over from the Irish stew. Lottie was deeply
engrossed in a copy of London Opinion, left behind
by a customer. Victoria surveyed the room, almost
absolutely bare save in the essentials of chairs and
tables. It was not unsightly, excepting the fact that
it was probably swept now and then but never
cleaned out. Upon the wall opposite was stuck a
penny souvenir which proclaimed the fact that the
Emperor of Patagonia had lunched at the Guildhall.
By its side hung a large looking glass co-operativel}'
purchased by the stall. Another wall was occupied
by pegs on which hung sundry dust coats and feather
boas, mostly smart. Gertie, in the corner, was still
fimibling in the place known as ' Heath's ' because it
represented the 'Hatterie.' It was a silent party
enough, this ; even the two other girls on duty
downstairs would not have increased the animation
much. Victoria sat back in her chair and, glancing
at the little watch she carried on her wrist in a
leather strap, saw she still had ten minutes to
think,

Victoria watched Gertie, who had come out of
' Heath's ' and was poising her hat before the glass.
She was a neat little thing, round everywhere, trim
in the figui-e, standing well on her toes ; her brown
hair and eyes, pursed up little mouth, small, sharp
nose, all spoke of briskness and self-confidence.

' Quarter to four, doin' a bunk,' she remarked
generally over her shoulder.

' Mind Butty doesn't catch you,' said Victoria.

'Oh, he's all right,' said Gertie, 'we're pals.'

Fat Bella, chewing the cud at the table, shot
a malevolent glance at her. Gertie took no notice of

,10 A BED OF ROSES

her, tied on her veil with a snap, and collected her
steel purse, parasol, and long white cotton gloves.

' Bye, everybody,' she said, ' be good. Bye, Miss
Prodgitt ; wish yer kick with yer perliceman, but you
take my tip ; all what glitters isn't coppers.'

Before Miss Prodgitt could find a retort to this
ruthless exposure of her idyll, Gertie had vanished
down the stairs. Lottie dreamily turned to the last
page of London Opinion and vainly attempted to
sound the middle of her back ; she was clearly dis-
turbed by the advertisement of a patent medicine.
Victoria watched her amusedly.

They were not bad sorts any of them. Lottie, in
her sharp way, had been a kindly guide in the early
daj'S, exphiined the meaning of ' checks,' shown her
how to distinguish the inflexion on the word ' bill,' that
tells whether a customer wants the bill of fare or the
bill of costs, imparted too the wonderful mnemonics
which enable a waitress to sort four simultaneous
orders. Gertie, the only frankly common member of
the staff, barked ever but bit never. As for Bella,
poor soul, she represented neutrality. The thread of
her life was woven ; she would marry her policeman
when he got his stripe, and bear him dull company to
the grave. Gertie would no doubt look after herself.
Not being likely to marry, she might keep straight
and end as a manageress, probably save nothing and
end in the workhouse, or go wrong and live somehow,
and then die as quickly as a robin passing from the
sunshine to the darkness. Lottie was a greater
problem; in her intelligence lay danger; she had
imagination which, in girls of her class, is a perilous
possession. Her enthusiasm might take her any-
where, but very much more likely to misery than to
happiness. However, as she was visibly weak chested,
A'ictoria took comfort in the thought that the air of
the underground smoking-room would some day
settle her troubles.

A BED OF ROSES m

Victoria did not follow up her own line of life, for,
like all young things, there was no end for her,
nothing but mist ahead, with a rosy tinge in it.
Sufficient was it that she was in receipt of a fairly
regular income, not exactly overworked, neither
happy nor miserable. Apart from the two hours
rush in the middle of the day, there was
nothing to worry her. After two months she had
worked up a fair connection ; she could not rival the
experienced Lottie, nor even Gertie whose forward
little ways always ' caught on,' but she kept up an
average of some fourteen shillings a week in tips.
Thus she scored over Gladys and Cora, whose looks
and manners were unimpressive, lymphatic Bella
being of course outclassed by everybody. Twenty-
one and six a week was none too much for Victoria,
whose ideas of clothes were fatally upper middle
class ; good, and not too cheap. Still, she was
enough of her class to live within her income, and
even add a shilling now and then to her little hoard.
A door opened downstairs. ' Four o'clock !
Come down ! Vic ! Bella ! Lottie ! Vat are you
doing ? gn ? '

Bella jumped up in terror, her fat cheeks quivering
like jelly. ' Coming, Mr Stein, coming,' she cried,
making for the stairs. Victoria followed more
slowly. Lottie, secure in her privileges as head
waitress, did not move until she heard the door
below slam behind them.

Victoria lazily made for her tables. They were
unoccupied save by a youth of the junior clerk type.

' Small tea toasted scone. Miss,' said the monarch
with an approving look at Victoria's eyes. As she
turned to execute his order he threw himself back in
the bamboo arm chair. He joined his ten finger tips,
and, crossing his legs, negligently displayed a purple
sock. He retained this attitude until the return of
Victoria.

112 A BED OF ROSES

*Kyou,'she said, depositing his cup before liim.
She had uuconsciously acquired this incomprehensible
habit of waitresses.

The young man availed himself of the wait for the
scone to infonn Victoria that it was a cold day.

' We don't notice it here,' she said graciously
enough.

' Hot place, eh,' said the customer with a wink.

Victoria smiled. In the early days she would have
snubbed him, but she had heard the remark before
and had a stereotyped answer ready which, with a
new customer, invariably earned her a reputation
for wit.

' Oh, the hotter the fewer.' She smiled negligently,
moving away towards the counter. When she returned
with the scone the youth held out his hand for the
plate and, taking it, touched the side of hers with
his finger tips. She gave him a faint smile and sat
down a couple of yards away on a chair marked
'Attendant.'

The youth congratulated her upon the prettiness
of the place. Victoria helped him through his scone
by agreeing with him generally. She completed her
conquest by lightly touching his shoulder as she
gave him his check.

' Penny ? ' asked Bella, as the youth gone, Victoria
slipped her fingers under the cup.

' Gent,' replied Victoria, displaying tliree coppers.

Bella sighed. ' You've got all the luck, don't often
get a twopenny ; never had a gent in my life.'

' I don't wonder you don't,' said Cora from the other
side of the room, ' looking as pleasant as if you were
being photographed. You got to give the boys some
sport.'

Bella sighed. ' It's all very well, Cora, I'm an
ugly one, that's what it is.'

* Get out ; I'm not a blooming daisy. Try washing
your hair . . .'

A BED OF ROSES 113

' It's wrong,' interposed Bella ponderously.

* Oh, shut it, Miss Prodgitt, I've no patience with
you.'

Cora walked away to the counter where Gladys
was brewing tea. There was a singular similarity
between these two ; both were short and plump ;
both used henna to bring their hair up to a certain
hue of redness ; both had complexions obviously too
dark for the copper of their locks, belied as it was
already by their brown eyes. Indeed their re-
semblance frequently created trouble, for each
maintained that the other ruined her trade by
making her face cheap.

' Can't help it if you've got a cheap face,' was the
invariable answer from either. ' You go home and
come back when the rhubarb's out,' usually served as
a retort,

The July afternoon oozed away. It was cool ;
now and then an effluvium of tea came to Victoria,
mingled with the scent of toast. Now and then too
the rumble of a dray or the clatter of a hansom filtered
into the dullness. Victoria almost slept.

The inner door opened. A tall, stout, elderly man
entered, throwing a savage glance round the shop.
There was a little stir among the girls. Bella's
rigidity increased tenfold. Cora and Gladys suddenly
stopped talking. Alone Victoria and Lottie seemed
unconcerned at the entrance of Butty, for 'Butty'
it was,

'Butty,' otherwise Mr Burton, the chairman of
'Rosebud, Ltd.,' continued to glare theatrically.
He wore a blue suit of a crude tint, a check black
and white waistcoat, a soft fronted brown shirt and,
set in a shilling poplin tie, a large black pearl.
Under a grey bowler set far back on his head his
forehead sloped awaj^ to his wispy greying hair. His
nose was large and veined, his cheeks pendulous and
touched with rosacia ; his hanging underlip revealed

H

114 A BED OF ROSES

yellow teeth. The hea\^ dullness of l]is face was
somewhat relieved by his little blue eyes, piercing
and sparkling like those of a snake. His face was
that of a man who is looking for faults to correct.

Mr Burton strode thi-ough the shop to the counter
where Cora and Gladys at once assumed an air of
rectitude while he examined the cash register. Then,
without a word, he returned towards the doorway,
sweeping Lottie's tables with a discontented glance,
and came to a stop before one of Bella's tables.

' What's this ? what the de\dl do you mean by this ? '
thundered Butty, pointing to a soiled plate and cup.

' Oh, sir, I'm sorry, I . . .' gasped Bella, ' I . . .'

'Now look here, my girl,' hissed Butty, savagely,
* don't you give me any of your lip. If I ever find
anything on a table of yours thirty seconds after a
customer's gone, it's the sack. Take it from me.'

He walked to the steps and descended into the
smoking room, Cora and Gladys went into fits of
silent mirth, pointing at poor Bella. Lottie, uncon-
cerned as ever, vainly tried to extract interest fi'oni
the shop copy of ' What's on.'

' Victoria,' came Butty's voice from below. ' Where's
Mr Stein ? Come down.'

' He's washing, sir,' said Victoria, bending over the
banisters.

' Oh, washing is he ? first time I've caught him at
it,' came the answer with vicious jocularity. ' Here's
a nice state of things ; come down.'

Victoria went down the steps.

' Now then, why aren't the salt cellars put away ?
It's your job before you come up.'

*If you please, sir, it's settling day.' said Victoria
quietly, ' we open this room again at six.'

' Oh, yes, s'pose you're right. I don't blame you.
Never have to,' said Butty grudgingly, then
ingratiatingly.

' No, sir,' said Victoria.

A BED OF ROSES ns

'No, you're not like tlie others,' said Butty
negligently coming closer to lier.

Victoria smiled respectfully, but edged a little
away. Butty eyed her narrowly, his lips smiling
and a little moist. Then his hand suddenly shot
out and seized her by the arm, high up, just under
the short sleeve.

' You're a nice girl,' he said, looking into her eyes.

Victoria said nothing, but tried to fi'ee herself.
She tried harder as she felt on her forearm the moist
warmth of the ball of Butty's thumb softly caressing it.

' Let me go, sir,' she whispered, ' they can see you
through the banisters.'

' Never you mind, Vic,' said Butty drawing her
towards him.

Victoria slipped fi'om his grasp, ran to the stairs,
but remembered to climb them in a natm-al and
leisurely manner.

' Cool, very cool,' said Butty, approvingly, ' fine
girl, fine girl.' He passed his tongue over his lips,
which had suddenly gone dry.

When Victoria returned to her seat Lottie had not
moved ; Bella sat deep in her own despair, but, behind
the counter, Cora and Gladys were fixing two stern
pairs of eyes upon the favourite.

CHAPTER XV

* Yes, sir, yes sir ; I've got j^oiir order,' cried Victoria
to a middle aged man, whose face reddened with
everj^ minute of waiting. 'Steak, sir? Yes, sir,
that'll be eight minutes. And sautees, yes sir.
Gladys, send Dicky up to four. What was yours,
sir? Wing twopence extra. No bread? Oh, sorry,
sir, thought you said Worcester.'

Victoria dashed away to the counter. This was
the busy hour. In her brain a hurtle of food stuffs
and condiments automatically sorted itself out.

' Now then, hurry up with that chop,' she snapped,
thrusting her head almost tlirough the kitchen window.

' 'Oo are you,' growled the cook over her shoulder.
' Empress of Germany? I don't think.'

' Oil, shut it, Maria, hand it over ; now then Cora,
where you pushing to ? ' Victoria edged Cora back
from tlie window, seized the chop and rushed back to
her tables.

The bustle increased ; it was close on one o'clock,
an hour when the slaves drop their oars and, for a
while, leave the thwarts of many groans. The
Rosebud had nearly filled up. Almost every table
was occupied by young men, most of them reading
a paper propped up against a cruet, some a Temple
Classic, its pages kept open by the weight of the plate
edge. A steady hum of taD<: came from those who did
not read and, mingled with the clatter of knives and
forks, produced that atmosphere of mongrel sound
that floats into the ears like a restless wave.

n6

A BED OF ROSES 117

Victoria stepped briskly between the tables, collect-
ing orders, deftly making out bill after bill, smoothing
tempers ruflQed here and there by a wrongful attribu-
tion of food.

' Yes sir, cutlets. Noveg? Cauli? Yes sir.'

She almost ran up and down as half-past one struck
and the young men asked for coffees, small coffees,
small blacks, china teas. From time to time she
could breathe and linger for some seconds by a
youth who, audaciously, played with the pencil and
foil suspended from her waist. Or she exchanged a
pleasantr3^

'Now then, Nevy, none of your larks.' Victoria
turned round sharply and caught a hand engaged in
forcing a piece of sugar into her belt.

Ne^'7, otherwise Neville Brown, laughed and held
her hand the space of a second. ' I love my love with
a V . . .' he began, looking up at her, his blue eyes
shining.

'Chuck it or I'll tell your mother,' said Victoria,
smiling too. She withdrew her hand and turned
away.

' Oh, I say, Vic, don't go, wait a bit,' cried Neville,
' I Avant, now what did I want ? '

' Sure I don't know," said Victoria, ' you never said
what you wanted. Want me to make up your mind
for you ? '

' Do, Vic, let our minds be one,' said Neville.

Victoria looked at him approvingly. Neville Brown
deserved the nickname of 'Beauty,' which had clung
to him since he left school. Brown wavy hair,
features so clean cut as to appear ahnost effeminate,
a broad pointed jaw, all combined to make him
the schoolgirl's dream. Set off by his fair and
slightly sunburnt face, his blue eyes sparkled with
mischief.

'Well then, special and cream. Sixpence and
serve you right.'

ii8 A BED OF ROSES

She laughed and stepped brisklj^ away to the
counter.

* You're in luck, Beauty,' said his neighbour with
a sardonic air.

'Oh, it's no go, James,' replied Brown, 'straight
as they make them.'

' Don't say she's not. But if I weren't a married
man, I'd go for her baldheaded.'

'Guess you would, Jimmy,' said Beauty, laughing,
' but you'd be wasting your time. You wouldn't get
anything out of her.'

* Don't you be too sure,' said Jimmy meaningly.
He passed his hand reflectively over his shaven lips.

' WeU, well,' said Brown, ' p'raps I'm not an Apollo
like you, Jimmy.'

Jimmy smiled complacently. He was a tall slim
youth, well groomed about the head, doggy about
tlie collar and tie, neatly dressed in Scotch tweed.
His steady grey ejes and firm mouth, a little set and
rigid, the impeccability of all about him had stamped
business upon his face as upon his clothes.

' Oh, I can't queer your pitch. Beauty,' he said a
little grimly. ' I know j^ou, you low dog.'

Beauty laughed at the epithet. ' You've got no
poetry about you, you North Country chaps, when a
girl's as lovely as Victoria — '

' As lovely as Victoria,' he repeated a little louder
as Victoria laid the cup of coffee before him.

* I know all about that,' said Victoria coolly, ' you
don't come it over me like that, Nevy.'

'Cruel, cruel girl,' sighed Neville. 'Ah, if you
only knew what I feel '

Victoria put her hand on the tablecloth and, for
a moment, looked down into Neville's blue eyes.

' You oughtn' to be allowed out,' she pronounced,
' you aren't safe.

Jimmy got up as if he had been sitting on a
suddenly released spring.

A BED OF ROSES 119

' Spoon away both of j^ou,' be said smoothly, * I'm
going over to Parsons' to buy a racquet. Coming
Beauty ? No, thought as much. Ta-ta, Vic. Excuse
me. Steak and kidney pie is tenpence, not a shilling.
Cheer oh ! Beauty.'

*He's a rum one,' said Victoria, reflectively, as
Jimmy passed the cash desk.

'Jimmy? oh, he's all right,' said Neville, 'but
look here Vic, I want to speak to you. Let's go on
the bust to-night. Dinner at the New Gaiety and
the theatre. What d'you think ? '

Victoria looked at him for a second.

' You are a cure, Nevy,' she said.

'Then that's a bargain?' said Brown, eagerlj''
snapping up her non-refusal. ' Meet me at Strand
Tube Station half-past seven. You're off to-night,
I know.'

' Oh you know, do you,' said Victoria smiling,
' Been pumping Bella I suppose, like the rest. She's
a green one, that girl.'

Neville looked up at her appealingly. 'Never
mind how I know,' he said, ' say you'll come, we'll
have a ripping time.'

'Well, p'raps I will aii'l p'raps I won't,' said
Victoria. ' Your bill, Sir ? Yessir.'

Victoria went to the next table. While she
wrote she exchanged chaff with the customers. One
had not raised his eyes from his book ; one stood
waiting for his bill ; the other two, creatures about
to be men, raised languid eyes from their coffee cups.
One negligently puffed a jet of tobacco smoke
upwards towards Victoria.

'Rotten,' she said briefly, 'I see you didn't buy
those up West.'

' That's what you think, Vic,' said the youth, 'fact
is I got them in the Burlington. Have one ? '

' No thanks. Don't want to be run in.'

'Have a match then,' The young man held up a

120 A BED OF ROSES

two incli vesta. ' What price that, eh ? pinched 'em
from the Troc' last night.'

'You are a toff, Bertie,' said Victoria with unction.
' ril have it as a keepsake.' She took it and stuck it
in ]ier belt.

liertie leaned over to his neighbour. ' It's a mash,'
he said confidently.

' Take her to Kew,' said his friend, ' next stop
Brighton.'

'Can't run to it, old cock,' said the youth. 'How-
ever we shall see.'

' Vic, Vic,' whispered Neville. But Victoria had
passed him quickly and was answering Mr Stein.

'Vat you mean by it,' he growled, 'making de
gentleman vait for his ticket, gn ? '

' Beg your pardon, Mr Stein, I did nothing of the
kind. The gentleman was making me wait while he
talked to his friend.'

Victoria could now lie coolly and well. Stein looked
at her savagely and slowly walked away along the
gangAvay between the tables, glowering from right to
left, looking managerially for possible complaints.

Victoria turned back from the counter. There,
behind the coffee urn where Cora presided, stood
Burton, in his blue suit, tiny beads of perspiration
appearing on his forehead. His little blue eyes fixed
themselves upon her like drills seeking in her being
the line of least resistance where he could deliver his
attack. She almost fled, as if she had seen a snake,
every facet of her memoiy causing the touch of his
hot warm hand to materialise.

' Vic,' said Neville's voice softly as she passed, ' is
it yes?'

She looked down at the handsome face.

' Yes, Beauty Boy,' she whispered and walked
away.

CHAPTER XVI

' Silly ass,' remarked Victoria angrily. She threw
Edward's letter on the table. Unconsciously she
spoke the ' Rosebud ' language, for contact had had
its effect upon her ; she no longer awoke with a start
to the fact that she was speaking an alien tongue, a
tongue she would once have despised.

EdAvard had expressed his interest in her welfare in
a letter of four pages covered with his tliin writing,
every letter of which was legible and sloped at the
proper angle. He ' considered it exceedingly undesir-
able for her to adopt a profession such as that of
waitress.' It was comforting to know that 'he was
relieved to see that she had had the common decency
to change her name, and he trusted. . . .' Here
Victoria had stopped.

' I can't bear it,' she said. ' I can't, can't, can't.
Twopenny little schoolmaster lecturing me, me
who've got to earn every penny I get by fighting
for it in the dirt, so to say.' Every one of Edward's
features came up before her eyes, his straggling fair
hair, his bloodless face, his fumbling ineffective
hands. This pedagogue who had stepped from
scholardom to teacherdom dared to blame or eulogise
the steps she took to earn her living, to be free to
live or die as she chose. It was preposterous. What
did he know of life ?

Victoria seized a pen and feverishly scribbled on a
crumpled sheet of paper :

' My dear Edward, — What I do's my business. I've

122 A BED OF ROSES

got to live and I can't clioose. And you can be sure
that so long as I can keep myself I shan't come to you
for help or adWce. Perhaps you don't know what
fi'eedom is, never having had any. But I do and I'm
going to keep it even if it costs me the approval of
you people who sit at home comfortably and judge
people like me who want to be strong and free. But
what's the good of talking about fi-eedom to you. —
Your affectionate sister,

Victoria.
She addressed the envelope and ran out hatless to
post it at the pillar box in the Edgware Road. As
she crossed the road homewards a horse bus rumbled
by. It carried an enormous advertisement of the
new musical comedy The Teapot Girl. ' A fine comedy
indeed,' she thought, suddenly a little weary.

As she entered her room, where a small oil lamp
diffused a sphere of graduated light, she was seized
as by the tliroat by the oppression of the silent
summer night. The wind had fallen ; not even a
whirl of dust stirred in the air. Alone and far away
a piano organ in a square droned and clanked Italian
melody. She thought of Edward and of her letter.
Perhaps she had been too sharp. Once upon a time
she would not have written like that : she was getting
common.

Victoria sat down on a little chair, her hands
clasped together in her lap, her eyes looking out at
the blank wall opposite. This, nine o'clock, was the
fatal liour when the ghosts of her dead past paced
like caged beasts up and do^vn in her small room and
the wraith of the day's work rattled its chains.
There had been earlier times when, in the first flush
of independence, she had sat down to gloat over what
was almost success, her liberty, her living earnal by
her own efforts. The rosiness of freedom then wrapped
around the dinge with wreaths of fancy, wreaths that
curled incessantly into haiTiionious shapes. But

A BED OF ROSES 123

Victoria had soon plumbed the depths of speculation
and found that the fire of imagination needs shadowy-
fuel for its shadowy combustion. Day by day her
brain had become less lissome. Then, instead of
thinking for the joy of thought, she had read some
fourpenny halfpenny novel, a paper even, picked up
in the Tube. Her mind was waking up, visualising,
realising, and in its troublous surgings made for
something to cling to to steady itself. But months
rolled on and on, inhannonious in their sameness,
unrelieved by anything from the monotony of work
and sleep. Certain facts meant certain things and
recurred eternally with their unchanging meaning ;
the knock that awoke her, a knock so individual and
habitual that her sleepy brain was conscious on
Sundays that she need not respond ; the smell of
food which began to assail her faintly as she entered
the 'Rosebud,' then grew to pungency and reek at
midday, blended with tobacco, then slowly ebbed
almost into nothingness : the dying day that was
grateful to her eyes when she left to go home, when
things looked kindly round her.

When Victoria realised all of a sudden her loneliness
in her island in Star Street, something like the fear of
the hunted had driven her out into the streets. She
Avas afraid to be alone, for not even books could save
her from her thoughts, those hounds in full cry. In
such moods she had walked the streets quickly,
looking at nothing, maintaining her pace over hills.
Now and then she had suddenly landed on a slum^
caught sight of, all beery and bloody, through the
chink of a black lane. But she shunned the flares,
the wet pavement, the orange peel that squelched
beneath her boots, afraid of the sight of too vigorous
life. Unconsciously she had sought the drug of
weariness and the cunning bred of her dipsomania
told her that the living were poor companions for her
soul. And, when at times a man had followed her,

124 A BED OF ROSES

his eye arrested by the hnes of her face lit up by
a gas lamp, he had soon tired of her quick walk and
turned away towards weaker vessels.

But even weariness, Avhen abused, loses its power
as a sedative. The body, at once hardened and
satiated, demands more every day as it craves for
increasing dozes of morphia, for more food, more
drink, more kisses, more, ever more. Thus Victoria
had reached her last stage -when, sitting alone in
her room, she once more faced the emptiness where
the ghosts of her dead past paced like caged
beasts and the wraith of the day's work rattled its
chains.

From this, now a state of mental instead of physical
exhaustion, she was seldom roused and it needed an
Edward come to judgment to stir her sleepy brain
into quick passion. Again and again the events of
the day would chase round and round maddeningly
with every one of their little details sharp as crystals.
Victoria could almost mechanically repeat some
conversations, all trifling, similar, confined to half a
dozen topics ; she could feel too, but casually as an
odalisque, the hot wave of desire which surrounded
her all day, evidenced by eyes that glittered, fastened
on her hands as she served, on her face, the curve of
her neck, her breast, her hips; eyes that devoured
and divested her of her meretricious livery. And,
worse perhaps than that big primitive surge which
left her cold but unangered, the futility of others who
bandied with her the daily threadbare joke, who
wearied her mind with questions as to food, com-
pelled her to sympathise with the vagaries of the
weather or were arch, flirtatious and dragged out of
her tired mind the necessary response. Even Butty
and the moist warmth of him, even Stein with his
flaccid surly face, were better in tlieir gi'ossness than
these vapid youths, thouglitless, incapable of thought,
incapable of imagining thought, who set her down

A BED OF ROSES 125

as an inferior, as a toy for games that were not even
those of men.

' Beaiity ' had been a disappointment. She had
met him two or three times since their first evening
out. That night Neville, who was a j^oung man of the
world, had pressed his suit so delicately, preserving
in so cat-like a manner his lines of retreat, that she
had not been able to snub him when inclined to. He
had a small private income and knew how to make
the best of his good looks by means of gentle manners
and smart clotlies. In the insurance office where he
was one of those clerks who have lately evolved from
the junior stage, he was nothing in particular and
earned ten pounds a month. He had furnished two
rooms on the Chelsea edge of Kensington, belonged to
an inexpensiA^e club in Saint James,' had been twice
to Brussels and once to Paris ; he smoked Turkish
cigarettes, deeming Virginia common ; he subscribed
to a library in connection with Mudie's and knew
enough of the middle classes to exaggerate his im-
pression of them into the smart set. Perhaps he tried
a little too much to be a gentleman.

Neville Brown was strongly attracted to Victoria.
He had vainly tried to draw her out and scented the
lie in her carefully concocted story. He knew enough
to feel that she was at heart one of those women he
met ' in society,' perhaps a little better. Thus she
puzzled him extremely, for she was not even facile ;
he could hold her hand ; she had not refused him
kisses, but he was afraid to secure his grip on her as
a man carrying a butterfly stirs not a finger for fear
it should escape.

Victoria turned all this over lazily. Her instinct
told her what manner of man was Neville, for he
hardly concealed his desires. Indeed their relations
had something of the charm of a masqued ball. She
saw well enough that Neville was not likely to remain
content with kisses and viewed the inevitable battle

126 A BED OF ROSES

witli mixed feelings. She liked him ; indeed, in
certain moods and when his blue eyes where at their
bluest, he attracted her magnetically. The reminis-
cent scent of Turkish tobacco on her lips always drew
her back towards him and yet she was of her class,
shy of love, of all that is illicit because unacknowledged.
She knew very well that Neville woidd hardly ask her
to marry him and that she would refuse if he did ;
she knew less well what slie would do if he asked her
to love him. When she analysed their relation she
always found that all lay on the lap of the gods.

In the loneliness of night her thoughts would fasten
on him more intently. He was youth and warmth and
fi'iendliness, words for the silent, a hand to touch ;
better still he was a figment of Love itself, with all
its tenderness and crudity, its heat, all the quivers of
its body ; he was soft scented as the mysterious giver
of passionate gifts. So, when Victoria lay down to
try and sleep she rocked in the trough of the waves of
doubt. She could not tell into what hands she would
give, if she gave, her freedom, her independence of
thought and deed, all that security which is dear to
the sheltered class from which she came. So, far into
the night she would struggle for sight, tossing fi'om
right to left and left to right, thrusting away and then
recalling the brown face, the blue eyes and their
promise.

CHAPTER XVII

The daj^s rolled on, and on every one, as their scroll
revealed itself, Victoria inscribed doings wliich never
varied. The routine grew heavier as she found that
the events of a Monday were so similar to those of
another Monday that after a month she could not
locate happenings. She no longer read newspapers.
There was nothing in them for her; not even the
mock tragedy of the death of an heir presmnptive or
the truer grimness of a shipwreck could rouse in her
an emotion. She did not care for adventure, not
because she thought that adventure was beneath her
notice, but because it could not affect her. A
revolution could have happened, but she would
have served boiled cod and coffees to the groimdlings,
wings of chicken to the luxurious, without a thought
for the upheaval, provided it did not fliitter the pink
curtains beyond which hummed the world.

At times, for the holiday season was not over and
work was rather slack, Victoria had time to sit on her
' attendant ' chair and to think awhile. Reading
nothing and seeing no one save Beauty and Mrs
Smith, she was thinking once more and thinking
dangerously much. Often she would watch Lottie,
negligently serving, returning the ball of futility with
a carelessness that was almost grace, or Cora talking
smart slang in young lady-like tones.

' To what end ? ' thought Victoria. ' What are we
doing here, wasting our lives I suppose, to feed these
boys. For what's the good of feeding them so that

I2S A BED OF ROSES

they may scrawl figures in books and catch trains and
perhaps one day, unless they've got too old, marry
some dull girl and have more children than they can
keep ? We girls, we're wasted too.' So strongly did
she feel this that, one day, she prospected the unex-
plored ground of Cora's mind.

' What are you worrying about ? ' remarked Cora,
after Victoria had tried to inflame her with noble
discontent. 'I don't say it's all honey, this job of
oui-s, but you can have a good time pretty well every
night, can't you, let alone Simdays ? '

' But I don't want a good time,' said Victoria,
suddenly inspired. ' I want to feel I'm alive, do
something.'

' Do what ? ' said Cora.
' Live, see things, travel.'

' Oh, we don't get a chance, of course,' said Cora.
* I'll tell you how it is, Vic, you want too much. If
you want anything in life you've got to want nothing,
then whatever you get good seems jolly good.'
' You're a pessimist, Cora,' said Victoria smiling.
'Meaning I see the sad side? Don't you believe
it. Every cloud has a silver lining, you know.'

' And eveiy silver lining has a cloud,' said Victoria,
sadly.

' Now, Vic,' answered Cora crossly, ' don't you go
on like that. You'll only mope and mope. And
what's the good of that, I'd like to know ? '

'Oh, I don't know,' said Victoria, 'I like thinking
of things. Sometimes I wish I could make an end
of it. Don't you ? '

' Lord, no,' said Cora, ' I make the best of it. You
take my tip and don't think too much.'

Victoria bent down in her chair, her chin upon her
open palm. Cora slapped her on the back.
' Cheer up,' she said, ' we'll soon be dead.'
Victoria had also attempted Gladys, but had dis-
covered without surprise that her association with

A BED OF ROSES 129

Cora liad equalised their minds as well as the copper
of their hair. Lottie never said much when attacked
on a general subject, while Bella never said anything
at all. Since the day when Victoria had attempted
to draw her out on the fateful question 'What's the
good of anything ? ' Bella Prodgitt had looked upon
Victoria as a dangerous revolutionary. At times she
would follow the firebrand roimd the shop with
frightened and admiring eyes. For her Victoria
was something like the brilliant relation of whom
the family is proud without daring to acknowledge
him.

It fell to Gertie's lot to enlighten Victoria further
on the current outlook on life. It came about in this
way. One Saturday afternoon Victoria and Bella
were alone on duty upstairs, for the serving of lunch
is then at a low ebb ; the City makes a desperate
effort to reach the edge of the world to lunch peace-
fulh'' and cheaply in its homes and lodgings. Lottie
and Gertie were taking the smoking room below.

It was nearly three o'clock. At one of the larger
tables sat two men, both almost through with their
lunch. The elder of the two, a stout, cheery-looking
man, pushed away his cup, slipped two pennies under
the saucer and, taking up his bill, which Victoria
had made out when she gave him his coffee, went up
to the cash desk. The other man, a pale faced youth
in a blue suit, sat before his half emptied cup. His
hand passed nervously round his chin as he surveyed
the room ; his was rather the face of a ferret, with
a long upper lip, watery blue eyes, and a weak chin.
His forehead sloped a little and was decorated with
many pimples.

Victoria passed him quickly, caught up the stout
man, entered the cash desk and took his bill. He
turned in the doorway.

' Well, Vic,' he said, ' when are we going to be
married ? '

I30 A BED OF ROSES

* 29tli of February, if it's not a leap year,' she
laughed.

' Too bad, too bad,' said the stout man, looking
back from the open door out of which he had already
passed, ' you're the third girl who's said that to me
in a fortnight.'

' Serve you right,' said Victoria, looking into the
mirror opposite, ' you're as bad as Henry the . • . .'

The door closed. Victoria did not finish her
sentence. Her eyes were glued to the mirror. In
it she could only see a young man with a thin face,
decorated with many pimples, hurriedly gulping
down the remains of his cup of coffee. But a second
before then she had seen something which made her
fetch a quick breath. The young man had looked
round, marked that her head was turned away ; he
had thrown a quick glance to the right and the left,
to the counter which Bella had left for a moment to
go into the kitchen ; then his hand had shot out and,
with a quick movement, he had seized the stout
man's pennies and slipped them under his own
saucer.

The young man got up. Victoria came up to him
and made o\it his bill. He took it without a word
and paid it at the desk, Victoria taking his monej'-.

' Well, he didn't steal it, did he ? ' said Gertie,
when Victoria told her of the incident.

* No, not exactly. Unless he stole it from the first
man.'

' 'Ow could he steal it if he didn't take it ? ' snapped
Gertie.

' Well he made believe to tip me when he didn't,
and he made believe that the first man was mean
when it was he who was,' said Victoria. ' So he stole
it from the first man to give it me.'

' Lord, I don't see what yer after,' said Gertie.
* You ain't lost nothing. And the first fellow he ain't
lost nothing either. He'd left his money.'

A BED OF ROSES 131

Victoria struggled for a few sentences. The little
Cockney brain could not take in her view. Gertie
could only see that Victoria had had twopence from
somebody instead of fi^om somebody else, so what was
her trouble ?

' Tell yer wot,' said Gertie summing up the case,

* seems ter me the fellow knew wot he Avas after.
Dodgy sort of tiling to do. Oughter 'ave thought of
the looking-glass though.'

Victoria turned away from Gertie's crafty little
smile. There was something in the girl that she
could not understand ; nor could Gertie understand
her scruple. Gertie helped her a little though to
solve the problem of waste ; this girl could hardly be
wasted, thought Victoria, for of what use could she
be ? She had neither the fine physique that enables
a woman to bear big stupid sons, nor the intelligence
which breeds a cleverer generation ; she was sunk in
the worship of easy pleasure and ever bade the
fleeting joy to tarry yet awhile.

' She isn't alive at all,' said Victoria to Lottie.

* She merely grows older.'

' Well, so do we,' replied Lottie in matter of fact
tones.

Victoria was compelled to admit the truth of tliis,
but she did not see her point clearly enough to
state it. Lottie, besides, did nothing to draw
her out. In some ways she was Victoria's oasis in
the desert, for she was simple and gentle, but her
status lymphaticus was permanent. She did not
even dream.

Victoria's psychological enquiries did not tend to
make her popular. The verdict of the ' Rosebud '
was that she was a ' rum one,' perhaps a ' deep one.'
The staff were confirmed in their suspicions that she
was a ' deep one ' by the obvious attentions that Mr
Burton paid her. They were not pnidish, except
Bella who objected to ' goings on ' ; to be distinguished

132 A BED OF ROSES

by Butty was rather disgusting, but it was
flattering too.

' He could have anybod}^ he liked, the dirty old
tyke,' remarked Cora. ' Of course I'm not taking
any,' she added in response to a black look from
Bella Prodgitt.

Victoria was not ' taking an}' ' either, but she
every day found greater difficulty in repelling him.
Burton would stand behind the counter near the
kitchen door during the lunch hour, and whenever
Victoria had to come up to it, he would draw closer,
so close that she could see over the whites of his
little eyes a fine web of blood vessels. Every time
she came and went her skirts brushed against his
legs ; on her neck, sometimes she felt the rush of his
bitter scented breath.

One afternoon, in the change room, as she was
dressing alone to leave at four, the door opened.
She had taken olT her blouse and turned with a little
cry. Burton had come m suddenly. He walked
straight up to her, his eyes not fixed on hers but on
her bare arms. A faintness came over her. She
hardly had the strength to repel him, as without
a word he threw one arm round her waist, seizing
her above the elbow with his other hand. As he
tried to draw her towards him she saw a few inches
from her face, just the man's mouth, red and wet,
like the sucker of a leech, the lips parted over the
yellow teeth.

' Let me go ! ' she hissed, throwing her head back.

Burton ground her against him, craning his neck
to touch lier lips with his,

' Don't be silly,' he whispered, 'I love you. You
be my little girl.'

' Let me go.' Victoria shook him savagely.

* None of that.' Burton's eyes were glittering.
The corners had pulled upwards with rage.

* Let me go, I say.'

A BED OF ROSES 133

Burton did not answer. For a niinnte tliey wrestled.
Victoria thrust liim Lack against tlie Avail. She
almost turned sick as his hand, slipping round her,
flattened itself on her bare shoulder. In that moment
of weakness Burton won aiid, bending her OA'^er,
kissed her on the mouth. She struggled, but Burton
had gripped her behind the neck. Tlii-ee times he
kissed her on the lips. A convulsion of disgust and
she lay motionless in liis embrace. There was a step
on the stairs. A few seconds later Burton had
slipped out by the side door.

' What's up ? ' said Gladys, suspiciously.

Victoria had sunk upon a chair, breathless, dis-
hevelled, her face in her hands.

' Nothing ... I ... I feel sick,' she faltered.
Then she savagely wiped her mouth with her
feather boa.

Victoria was getting a grip of things. The brute,
the currish brute. The words rang in her head like
a chorus. For days, the memory of the affray did
not leave her. She guarded, too, against any recur-
rence of the scene.

Her hatred for Burton seemed to increase the
fascination of Neville. She did not think of them
together, but it always seemed to happen that,
immediately after thrusting away the toad-like
pictm-e of the chainnan, she thought of the blue-eyed
boy. Yet her relations with Neville were ill-fated.
Some days after the foul incident in the change room,
Neville took her for one of his little ' busts.' As it
was one of her late nights he called for her at a
quarter past nine. They walked towards the west
and, on the stroke of ten, Neville escorted her into
one of the enormous restaurants that the Ivefreshment
Rendezvous, known to London as the Ah- Ah, runs as
anonymously as it may.

Victoria was amused. The R. R. was the owner
of a palace, built if not for the classes, certainly not

134 A BED OF ROSES

for tlie masses. Its facing was of tortured Portland
stone, where Greek columns, Italian, Louis XIV and
Tudor mouldings blended with, rich Byzantine gild-
ings and pre-Raphaelite frescoes. Inside too, it was
all plush, mainly red ; gold again ; palms, fountains,
with goldfish and tin ducks. The restaurant was
quite a fair imitation of the Carlton, but a table
d'hote supper was provided for eighteen pence,
including finger bowls in which floated a rose petal.

Neville and Victoria sat at a small table made for
two. She surrendered her feet to the clasp of his.
Around her were about two hundred couples and a
hundred family parties. Most of the young men
were elaborately casual ; the}'- wore blue or tweed
suits, a few, frock coats marred by double collars ;
they had a tendency to loll and to puff the insolent
tobacco smoke of virginias towards the distant roof.
Their j^oung ladies talked a great deal and looked
about. There was much wriggling of chairs, much
giggling, much pulling up of long gloves over bare
arms. In a corner, all alone, a young man in well-
fitting evening clothes was consuming in melancholy
some chocolate and a sandwich.

Neville plied Victoria with the major part of a
half bottle of claret.

' Burgundy's the thing,' he said. ' More body
in it.'

' Yes, it is good, isn't it? I mustn't liave any more
though.'

'Oh, you're all right,' said Neville indulgently.
'Let's have some coffee and a liqueur.'

' No, no liqueur for me.'

' Well, coffee then. Here, waiter.'

Neville struggled for some minutes. He utterly
failed to gain the ear of the waiters.

' Let's go, Beauty,' said Victoria. ' I don't want
any coffee. No, really, I'd rather not. I can't sleep
if I take it.'

A BED OF ROSES 135

The couple walked up Regent Street, then along
Piccadilly. Neville held Victoria's arai. He had
slipped his fingers under the long glove. She did
not withdraw her ami. His touch tickled her senses
to quiescence if not to satisfaction. They turned
into the Park. Just behind the statue of Achilles
they stepped upon the grass and at once Neville threw
his arm round Victoria. It was a little chilly ; mist
was rising from the grass. The trees stood blackly
out of it, as if sawn off a few feet from the ground.
Neville stopped. A little smile was on his lips.

' Beauty boy,' said Victoria.

He drew her towards him and kissed her. He
kissed her on the forehead, then on the cheek, for
he was a sybarite, in matters of love something of an
artist, just behind the ear, then passionately on the
lips. Victoria closed her eyes and threw one arm
round his neck. She felt exhilarated, as if gently
warmed. They walked further westwards, and with
every step the fog thickened.

'Let's stop. Beauty,' said Victoria, after they had
rather suddenly walked up to a thicket. ' We'll get
lost in the wilderness.'

'And wilderness were paradise enow,' murmured
Neville in her ear.

Victoria did not know the hackneyed line. It
sounded beautiful to her. She laughed nervously
and let Neville draw her down by his side on the
grass.

' Oh, let me go, Beauty,' she whispered. ' Suppose
someone should come.'

Neville did not answer. He had clasped her to
him. His lips were more insistent on hers. She felt
liis hand on her breast.

' Oh, no, no. Beauty, don't, please don't,' she said
weakly.

For some minutes she lay passive in his grasp.
He had undone the back of her blouse. His hand.

136 A BED OF ROSES

oold and dry, had slipped along her shoulder, seeking
warmth.

Slowly his clasp grew harder ; he used his weight.
Victoria bent under it. Something like faintness came
over her.

' Victoria, Victoria, my darling.' The voice seemed
far away. She was giving way more and more. Not
a blade of grass shuddered under its slii'oud of mist.
From the road came the roar of a motorbus, like a
muffled drum. Then she felt the damp of the grass
on her back through the opening of her blouse.

A second later she was sitting up. She had
thrust Neville away with a savage push under the
chin. He seized her once more. She fought him,
seeing nothing to struggle with but a silent black
shadow.

* No, Beauty, no, yoii musn't,' she panted.
They were standing tlien, both of them.

* Vic, darling, why not ? ' pleaded Neville gently,
still holding her hand.

* I don't know. Oh, no, really I can't, Beauty.'
She did not know it, but generations of clean living

were fighting behind her, driving back and crushing
out the forces of nature. She did not know that, like
most women, she was not a free being but the great-
granddaughter of a woman whose forl^ears had taught
her that illegal surrender is evil.

' I'm sorry, Beauty, . . . it's my fault,' she said.

' Oh, don't mention it,' said Neville icily, dropping
her hand. ' You're playing with me, that's all.'

' I'm not,' said Victoria, tears of excitement in her
eyes. ' Oh, Beauty, don't you understand. We
women, we can't do what we like. It's so hard.
We're poor, and life is so dull and we wish we were
dead. And tlien a man comes like you and the only
thing he can offer, we mustn't take it.'

' But why, why ? ' asked Beauty.

' I don't know,' said Victoria. ' We mustn't. At

A BED OF ROSES 137

any rate I mustn't. My freedom is all I've got and
I can't give it np to yon like tliat. I like you, you
know that, don't you, Beauty? '

Neville did not answer.

*I do, Beauty. But I can't, don't you see. If I
were a ricli woman it would be different. I'd owe
nobody anything. But I'm poor ; it'd pull me down
and . . . when a woman's down, men either kick or
kiss her.'

Neville shrugged his shoulders.

'Let's go,' he said.

Silently, side by side, they walked out of the park.

CHAPTER XVIII

October was dying, its russet tints slowly merging-
into grey. Thin mists, laden with fine specks of
soot, had penetrated into the 'Rosebud.' Victoria,
in her black business dress, under which she now
had to wear a vest which rather killed the tip-drawing-
power of her openwork blouse, was setting her tables,
quickly crossing red cloths over white, polishing the
glasses, arranging knives and forks in artistic if
inconvenient positions. It was ten o'clock but
business had not begun, neither Mr Stein nor Butty
having arrived.

' Cold, ain't it? ' remarked Gertie.

'Might be colder,' said Bella Prodgitt.

Victoria came towards them, earning a trayful
of cruets.

' 'Ow's Beauty ? ' asked Gertie.

Victoria passed by Anthout a word. This romance
had not added to the popularity of the chairman's
favourite. Cora and Gladj's were busy dusting the
counter and polishing the urns. Lottie, in front of
a wall glass, was putting the finishing touclies to the
Bet of her cap. The door opened to let in ]\Ir Stein,
strapped tight in his frock coat, his top hat set far
back on his bullet head. He glared for a moment
at the staff in general, then without a word took a
letter addressed to him from a rack bearing several
addressed to customers and passed into the cash
desk. The girls resumed their polishing more
busily. Quickly the night wrappings fell from the

A BED OF ROSES 139.

chandeliers ; tlie roselDud baskets were teased inta
shape ; the tables, loaded swiftly with their sets, grew
more becoming. Victoria, passing from table to
table set on each a small vase full of chrj^santhemums.

' I say Gladys, look at Stein,' whispered Cora to her
neighbour. Gladys straightened herself from under
the counter and followed the direction of Cora's
finger.

' Lord,' she said, ' what's up ? '

Bella's attention was attracted. She too was
interested in her bovine way. Mr Stein's attitude
was certainly unusual. He held a sheet of pai^er
in one hand, his other hand clutching at his cheek
so hard as to make one of his eyes protrude. Both
his eyes were fixed on the sheet of paper, incredulous
and horror-stricken,

' I say, Vic, what's the matter with the little swine ? '
suddenly said Lottie, who had at length noticed him.

Victoria looked. Stein had not moved. For some
seconds all the girls gazed spellbound at the frozen
fig-ure in the cashbox. The silence of tragedy was
on them, a silence which arrests gesture and causes
hearts to beat.

'Lord, I can't stick this,' whispered Cora, 'there's
something wrong.' Quickly diving under the counter
flap she ran towards the pay box where Stein still sat
unmoving, as if petrified. The little group of girls
watched her. Bella's stertorous breathing was
plainly heard.

Cora opened the glass door and seized Stein by
the arm.

'What's the matter, Mr Stein?' she said excitedly,
' are you feeling queer ? '

Stein started like a somnabulistsuddenh' awakened
and looked at her stupidly, then at the motionless
girls in the shop.

' Nein, nein, lassen sie doch,' he muttered.

'Mr Stein, Mr Stein,' half screamed Cora.

I40 A BED OF ROSES

'Oil, get ont, I'm all riglit, but the game's up.
He's gone. The game's up I tell you. The game's
up.'

Cora looked at him rouncl-ej-ed. Mr Stein's idioms
frightened her almost more than his German.

Stein was babbling, speaking louder and louder.

' Gone away, Burton. Bankrupt and got all the
cash. ... See ? You get the sack. Starve. So do
I and my vife. . . . Ach, ach, ach, ach. ;\Iein Gott,
Me in Gott, was soils. . . .'

Gertie watched from the counter with a heightened
colour. Lottie and Victoria, side by side, had not
moved. A curious chill had seized Victoria, stiffening
her wrists and knees. Stein was talking quicker and
quicker, with a voice that was not his.

' Ach, the damned scoundrel ... the schweinehund
... he knew the business was going to the dogs, ach,
schweinehund, schweinehund. . . .' He paused.
Less savage his thoughts turned to his losses. * Two
hundred shares he sold me. ... I paid a premium
. . .they vas to go to four . . . ach, ach, ach. . . .
I'm in the cart.'

Gertie sniggered gently. The idiom had swamped
the tragedy. Stein looked round at the sound. His
face had gone leaden ; his greasy plastered hair was
all awry.

'Vat you laughing at, gn?' he asked savagely,
suddenly resuming his managerial tone.

' Take it we're bust, ain't we,' said Gertie, stepping
forward jauntily.

Stein lifted, then dropped one hand.

* Yes,' he said, ' bust.'

' Thank you for a week's wages, Mr Stein,' said
Gertie, 'and I'll push off, if yer don't mind.'

Stein laughed harshly. With a theatrical move-
ment he seized the cash drawer by the handle, drew
it out anr] flung it on the floor. It Avas empty.

' Oh, that's 'ow it is,' said Gertie. ' You're a fine

A BED OF ROSES 141

gentleman, I don't think. Bloomin' lot of sknnks.
Wliat price that, mate ? ' she screamed addressing
Bella, who still sat on her chair, her cheeks rising and
falling like the sides of a cuttlefish. ' 'Ere's a fine
go. Fellers comes along and tikes in poor girls like
me and ^'•ou and steals the bread outer their mouths.
I'll 'ave yer run in, yer bloody foreigner.' She waved
her fist in the man's face. ' For two pins,' she
screamed, ' I'd smash yer fice, I'd. . . .'

' Chuck it, Gertie,' said Lottie, suddenly taking her
by the arm, ' don't you see he's got notliing to do
with it?'

' Oh, indeed. Miss Mealymouth,' sneered Gertie,
'what I want is my mone}^ . . .'

'Leave him alone, Gertie,' said Victoria, 'you can't
kick a man wdien he's down.'

Gertie looked as if she were about to explode.
Then the problem became too big for her. In her
little Cockney brain the question was insolublj''
revolving : ' Can you kick a man when he's down . . . ?
Can you kick. . . ? '

Mr Stein passed his hand over his forehead. He
was pulling himself together.

' Close de door, Cora,' he commanded. ' Now then,
the company's bankrupt, there's nothing in the cash-
box. You get the push. ... I get the push.' His
voice broke slightly. His face twitched. 'You can
go. Get another job.' He looked at Gertie.

' Put down your address. I give it to the police.
You get something for wages.' He slowly turned away
and sat down on a chair, his eyes fixed on the wall.

There was a repressed hubbub of talking. Then
Gertie made the first move and went up to the change
room. She came back a minute or two later in her
long coat and large hat, carry ing a parcel which none
noticed as being rather large for a comb. It contained
the company's cap and apron which, thought she, she
might as well save fi'om the wreck.

,42 A BED OF ROSES

Gertie sliook hands with Cora. ' See yer ter-night,'
she said airily, ' same okl place ; 'bye Miss Prodgitt,
'ope "Force" '11 lift you out of this.' She shook
hands with Victoria, 'a trifle coldly, kissed Lottie,
threw one last malevolent look at Stein's back. The
door closed behind her. She had passed out of the
^yot into the main stream.
' Lottie, a little self consciously, pulled down the
pink blinds, in token of mourning. The ' Rosebud '
hung broken on its stalk. Then, silently, she went
up into the change room, followed by Cora ; a pace
behind came Victoria, all heavy with gloom. They
dressed silently. Cora, without a word, kissed them
both, collected her small possessions into a reticule,
then shook hands with both and kissed them again.
The door closed behind her. When Lottie and
Victoria went do^Tn into the shop, Cora also had passed
into the main stream. Gladys had gone with her.

The two girls hesitated for a moment as to whether
they should speak to Stein. It Avas almost dark, for
the October light was too weak to filter through the
thick pink blinds. Lottie went up to the dark figure.

' Cheer up,' she said kindly, ' it's a long lane that
has no turning.'

Stein looked up uncomprehendingly, then sank his
head into his hands.

As Lottie and Victoria turned once more, the front
door open behind them, all they saw was Bella
Prodgitt, Ij-mphatic as ever, motionless on her chair,
like a watcher over the figure of the man silently
mourning his last hopes.

As they passed into the street the fresh air
quickened by the coming cold of winter, stung their
blood to action. The autumn sunlight, pale like the
faded gold of hair that age has silvered, thi-ew faint
fihadows on the dry white pavements where little
whirlwinds of dust chased and figured like swallows
on the wing.

A BED OF ROSES 143

Lottie and Victoria walked quickly down the city
streets. It was half-past eleven, a time when, the
rush of the morning over, comparative emptiness
awaits the coming of the midday crowds ; every
minute they were stopped by the blocks of drays
and carriages which come in greater nimibers in the
road as men grow fewer on the pavements. The
unaccustomed liberty of the hour did not strike them,
for depression, a sense of impotence before fatality,
was upon them. Indeed they did not pause until
they reached on the Embankment the spot where the
two beautiful youths prepare to fasten on one another
their grip of bronze. They sat down upon a seat
and for a while remained silent,

' What are you going to do, Lottie ? ' asked Victoria.

' Look out for another job, of course,' said Lottie.

' In the same line ? ' said Victoria.

'I'll try that first,' replied Lottie, 'but you know
I'm not particular. There's all sorts of shops. Nice
soft little jobs at photographers, and manicm-ing
showi'ooms, I don't mind.'

Victoria, with the leaden weight of former days
pressing on her, envied Lottie's calm oi)timism. She
seemed so capable. But so far as she herself was
concerned, she did not feel sure that the ' other job '
woiild so easily be found. Indeed the memory of her
desperate hunt for work wrapped itself round her,
cold as a shroud.

' But what if you can't get one,' she faltered.

* Oh, that'll be all right,' said Lottie, airily. ' I can
live with my married sister for a bit, but I'll find a
job somehow. That doesn't worry me. What are
you thinking of ? '

'I don't know,' said Victoria slowly, 'I must look
out I suppose.'

' Hard up ? ' asked Lottie.

' No, not exactly,' said Victoria. ' I'm not rolling
in wealth, you know, but I can manage,'

144 A BED OF ROSES

' Well, don't you go and get stranded or anytliing,'
said Lottie. ' It doesn't do to be proud. It's not
much I can do, but anyhow j'ou let me know if — '
She paused. Victoria put her hand on hers.

* You're a bit of all right, Lottie,' she said softly, her
feelings forming naturally into the language of her
adopted class. For a few minutes the girls sat hand
in hand.

'Well, I'd better be going,' said Lottie. 'I'm
going to my married sister at Highgate first. Time
enough to look about this afternoon.'

The two girls exchanged addresses. Victoria
watched her friend's slim figure grow smaller and
slimmer under her cro^vn of pale hair, then almost
fade away, merge into men and women and suddenly
vanish at a turn, swallowed up. With a little shiver
she got up and walked away quickly towards the
west. She was lonely suddenly, horribly so. One bj"
one, all the links of her worldly chain had snapped.
Burton, the sensual brute, was gone ; Stein was
perhaps sitting still numb and silent in the darkened
shop ; Gertie, flippant and sharp, had sailed forth on
life's ocean, there to be tossed like a cork and like a
cork to swim; now Lottie was gone, cool and con-
fident, to dangers underrated and unknown. She
stood alone.

As she reached Westminster Bridge a strange sense
of familiarity overwhelmed her. A well-known figure
was there and it was horribly symbolical. It was
the old vagrant of bygone days, sitting propped up
against the parapet, clad in his filthy rags. From
his short clay pipe, at long intervals, he puEed
wreaths of smoke into the blue air.

CHAPTER XIX

The russet of October liad turned into the bleak
darkness of December. Tlie threat of winter was in
the air ; it hissed and sizzled in the bare branches as
they bent in the cold wind, shaking quivering drops
of water broadcast as if sowing the seeds of pain.
Victoria stopped for a moment on the threshold of the
house in Star Street, looked up and down the road.
It was black and sodden with wet ; the pavement
was greasy and glistening, flecked with cabbage
stalks and orange peel. Then she looked across at
the small shop where, though it was Sunday, a tailor
sat cross-legged almost on a level with the street,
painfully collecting with weary eyes the avaricious
light. His back was bowed with habit ; that and his
bandy legs told of his life and revealed his being.
In the street, when he had time to walk there, boj^s
mocked his shuffling gait, thus paying popular tribute
to the marks of honest toil.

Victoria stepped down to the pavement. A dragging
sensation made her look at her right boot. The sole
was parting fi'om the upper, stitch by stitch. With
something that was hardly a sigh A^ictoria put her
foot down again and slowly walked away. She turned
into Edgware Road, followed it northwards for a
while, then doubled sharply back into Praed Street
where she lingered awhile before an old curiosity
shop. She looked between two prints into the shop
where, in the darkness, she could see nothing. Yet
she looked at nothingness for quite a long while.

146 A BED OF ROSES

Then, listlessly, slie followed the street, turned back
through a square and stopped before a tiny chapel
almost at the end of Star Street. The deity that
follows with passionless eyes the wanderer in mean
streets knew from her course that this woman had no
errand ; without emotion the Being snipped a few
minutes from her earthly span.

By the side of the chapel sat an aged woman
smothered in rags so many and so thick that she
was passing well clad. She was hunched up on
a camp stool, all string and bits of firewood. A
small stove carrying an iron tray told that her trade
was selling roasted chestnuts ; nothing moved in the
group ; the old woman's face was brown and cracked
as her own chestnuts and there was less life in her
than in the warm scent of the roasting fruits which
gratefully filled Victoria's nostrils.

The eight weeks which now separated Victoria
from the old days at the ' Rosebud ' had driven deeper
yet into her soul her unimportance. She was power-
less before the world ; indeed, when she thought of it
at all, she no longer likened herself to a cork tossed
in the storm, but to a pebble sunken and motionless
in the bed of a flowing river.

Upon the day which followed her sudden uprooting
Victoria had bent her back to the task of finding
work. She had known once more the despairing
search through the advertisement columns of the
Daily Telegraph, the skilful winnowing of chaff from
wheat, sudden and then baffled hopes. Her new
professional sense had taken her to the shops where
young women are wanted to enhance the attraction
of coffee and cigarettes. But the baiiki-uptcy of the
* Rosebud ' was not an isolated case. The dishonesty
of Burton was not its cause but its consequence ; the
ship was sinking under liis feet when he deserted it
after loading himself with such booty as he could
carry. Victoria had discovered grimly that the first

A BED OF ROSES 147

result of a commercial crisis is the submerging of
those whose labours create a commercial boom.
Within a week of the ' Rosebud ' disaster the eleven
City cafes of the ' Lethe, Ltd.' had closed their doors.
Two small failures m the West End were followed
by a gi'eater crash. The ' Peoj^le's Restam-ants, Ltd '
eaten out by the thousand depots of the ' Refreshment
Rendezvous, Ltd ' had filed a voluntary petition for
liquidation ; the official liquidator had at once in-
augui'ated a ]3olicy of ' retrenchment and sound
business management ' and, as a beginning, closed
two hundred shops in the City and West End. He
proposed to exploit the suburbs and, after a
triumphant amalgamation with the victorioiis ' Re-
freshment Rendezvous,' to retire from the law into
peaceful directorships and there collect innumerable
guineas.

Victoria had followed the con\T.ilsion with passionate
interest. For a week the restaurant slump had been
the fashion. The manager of every surviving cafe
in London had given it as his deliberate opinion that
trade would be all the better for it. The financial
papers published grave warnings as to the dangers
of the restaurant business, to which the Stock
Exchange promptly responded by marking up the
prices of the survivors' shares. The Socialist papers
had eloquently pleaded for government assistance for
the two thousand odd displaced girls ; a Cabinet
Minister had marred his parliamentar\^ reputation by
endeavouring to satisfy one wing of his party that
the tearoom at South Kensington Museum was not
a Socialistic venture and the other wing that it was
an institution leading up to State ownership of the
trade. A girl discharged from the ' Lethe ' had earned
five guineas by writing a thousand words in a hated
but largely read daily paper. The interest had been
kept up by the rescue of a P.R. girl who had jumped
off Waterloo Bridge. Another P.R, girl, fired by

I4S A BED OF ROSES

example, had been more successful in tlie Lea. This
valuable advertisement enabled the Relief Fund to
distribute five shillings a head to many young persons
who had been waitresses at some time or another ;
there were rumours of a knighthood for its energetic
promoter.

It was in the midst of this welter that Victoria had
found herself cast, with her newly acquired experience
a drug in the market, and all the world inclined to
look upon her as a kind of adventuress. Her
emploj'ers' failure was in a sense her failure, and
she was handy to blame. For tln^ee weeks she had
doggedly continued her search for work, appljnng
first of all in the smart tea-rooms of the West, and
every day she became more accustomed to being
turned away. Her soul hardened to rebuffs as that of
a beggar who learns to bear stoically the denial of
alms. After vainly trying the best Victoria had
tried the worst, but ever^avliere the story was the
same. Every small restaurant keeper was drawing
his horns in, feverishly casting up trial balances ;
some of them in their panic had damaged their credit
by trying to arrange with their banks for overdrafts
they would never need. The slump was such that
they did not believe that the public would continue
to eat and drink ; they retrenched employees instead
of trying to carve success out of other men's
disasters.

Victoria, her teeth set, had faced the storm. She
now explored districts and streets systematically,
almost house by house. And when her spirit broke
at the end of tlie week, as her perpetual walks, the
l)ufl'eting of rain and wind soiled her clothing, broke
breaches into her boots, chapped her hands as glove
seams gave way, the only thing that could brace her
up was the shrinkage of her hoard by a sovereign.
She fjlaccd the coin on the mantlepiece after counting
the remainder, Monday morning saw it reduced to

A BED OF ROSES 149

eleven sliillings and sixpence. When the crisis came
she had taken in sail by exchanging into the second
floor back, then fortnnately vacant, thns saving tliree
shillings in rent.

The sight of her melting capital was a horror which
she faced only once a week, for at other times she
thrust the thought away, but it intruded every time
with greater insistence. Untrained still in economy
she found it imj)ossible to reduce her exjDenditure
below a ponnd. After paying off the mortgage of
eight and sixpence for her room and breakfast, she
had to set aside three shillings for fares, for she dared
not wade overmuch in the December mud. The
manageress of a cafe lost in Marylebone had heard
her kindly, but had looked at her boots plastered
with mud, then at the dirty fringes of her petticoats
and said, regretfully almost, that she would not do.
That clay had cost Victoria a pound almost wrenched
out of the money drawer. But this wardrobe, though
an asset, was an incubus, and Victoria at times often
hated it, for it cost so much in omnibus fares that she
paid for it every day in food stolen from her body.

B3'' the end of the seventh week Victoria had
reduced her hoard to four pounds. She now applied
for work like an automaton, often going twice to the
same shop without realising it, at other times sitting
for hours on a park seat, until the drizzle oozed fi*om
her hair into her neck. At the end of the seventh
week she had so lost consciousness of the world that
she walked all through the Sunday gloom without
food. Then, at eight o'clock, awakening suddenly to
her need, she gorged herself with suet pudding at an
eating house in the Edgware Road, came back to
Star Street and fell into a heavy sleep.

About four she was aroused by horrible sickness
which left her weak, every muscle relaxed and every
nerve strained to breaking point. Shapes blacker
than the night floated before her eyes ; every passing

150 A BED OF ROSES

milk cart rattled savagely tlu'ougli lier beating
temples ; twitcliings at her ankles and wrists, and the
hurried beat of her heart shook the whole of her
bod}'. She almost writhed on her bed, up and down,
as if forcibh' tlu'own or goaded.

As the December dawn struggled through her
window, diffusing over the white wall the light of the
condemned cell, she could bear it no more. She got
up, washed horrible bitterness from her mouth, clots
fi'om her eyes. Then, swaying with weariness and all
her pulses beating, she strayed into the street,
unseeing, her boots unbuttoned, into the daily
struggle.

As the blind man unguided, or the poor on the
march, she went into the East, now palely glowing
over the chimnej'' pots. She did not feel her weariness.
Her feet did not belong to her; she felt as if her
whole body were one gigantic wound vaguely aching
under the cliloroform. She walked without intention,
and as towards no goal. At Oxford Circus she
stopped. Her eye had unconsciously been arrested
by the posters which the newsvendor was deftly
glueing down on the pavement. The crude colours
of the posters, red, green, yellow, shocked her sluggish
ni'md into action. One spoke of a great reverse in
Nubia ; another repeated the information and added
a football cup draw. A third poster, blazing red,
struck such a blow at Victoria that, for a wild
moment, her heart seemed to stop. It merely bore
the words :

P. R.
REOPENS
Victoria read the two lines five or six times, first
dully, then in a whirl of emotion. Her blood seemed
to go hot and tingle ; the twitcliings of her wrists and
ankles grew insistent. With her heart pounding
with excitement she asked for the paper in a choked
voice, refusing the halfpenny change. Backing a

A BED OF ROSES 151

step or two she opened the paper. A sheet dropped
into the mnd.

The newsvendor, grizzled and sunbnrnt right into
the wrinkles, picked up the sheet and looked at her
wonderingly. From the other side a coipulent police-
man watched her with faint interest, reading her like
a book. He did not need to be told that Victoria was
out of work ; her face showed that hope had come
into her life.

Victoria read every detail greedil5\ The enter-
prising liquidator had carried through the amalgama-
tion of the People's Restaurants and the Refreshment
Rendezvous and created the People's Refreshment
Rendezvous. He had done this so quietly and
suddenly that the effect was a thunderbolt.
He had forestalled the decision of the Court,
so that agreements had been ready and signed
on the Saturday evening, while leave had obscurely
been granted on the Friday. Being master of the
situation the liquidator was re-opening fifty-five of the
two hundred closed shops. The paper announced
liis boast that ' by ten o'clock on Monday morning
fifty-five P. R. R's would be flying the flag of the
scone and cross buns.' The pa^^er also hailed this
pronouncement as Napoleonic.

Victoria feverishly read the list of the rescued
depots. They were mainly in Oxford Street and
Bloomsbury. Indeed, one of them was in Princes
Street. A flood of clarity seemed to come over
Victoria's brain. It was impossible for the P. R. or
P. R. R. or whatever it had become, to have secured a
staff on the Sunday. No doubt they proposed to
engage it on the spot and to iiish the organisation
into working order so as to capture at the outset the
succes de curiosite which every London daily was
beating up in the breast of a million idle men
and women. Clutching the paper in her hand she ran
across Oxford Street almost under the wheels of a

152 A BED OF ROSES

motor lorry. She turned into Princes Street and
liinied herself against the familiar door, clutching at
the handle.

There was another girl leaning against the door.
She was tall and slim. Her fair hair went to sandiness.
Her black coat was dusty and stained. Her large
blue eyes started from her colourless face, pale lipped,
hollow under the cheekbones. Victoria recovered her
breath and put her hair straight feverislily. A short
dark girl joined the group, pressing her body close
against them. Then two more. Then, one hj one,
half a dozen. Victoria discovered that her boots were
undone and bent down to do them iip with a hairpin.
As she struggled with numb fingers her rivals pressed
upon her with silent hostility. As she straightened
herself, the throng suddenly thrust her away fi'om the
door. Victoria recovered herself and drove against
them gritting her teeth. The fair girl was gi'ound
against her, but Victoria, full of her pain and bread
lust, thrust her elbow twice into the girl's breast.
She felt something like the rage of battle upon her
and its joy as the bone entered the soft flesh like a
weapon.

' Now then, steady, girls,' said the voice of the
policeman, faint like a dream voice.

' Blime, ain't they a 'ot lot ! ' said another dream
voice, a loafer's.

The crowd once more became orderly. Though
quite a hundred girls had now collected hardly any
spoke. In every face there was tenseness, though the
front ranks showed most ferocity in their eyes and the
late-comers most weariness.

* Where you shovin' ? ' asked a sulky voice.

There was a mutter that miglit have been a curse.
Then silence once more and the girls fiercely watched
for their bread, looking right and left like suspicious
dogs. A spruce young warehouseman slowly reviewed
the girls and allowed his eyes to linger approvingly

A BED OF ROSES 153

on one or two. He winked approvingly at the fair
girl but she did not respond. She stood flat against
the door, every inch of her body spread so as to occupy
as mnch space as she could.

Then, half-past seven, a young man and a middle-
aged woman shouldering through the wedged mass,
the fierce rush into the shop and there the gasp behind
closed doors among the other winners, hatless, their
clothes torn, their bodices ripped open to the stays,
one with her hair down and her neck marked here
and there by bleeding scratches. Then, after the
turmoil of the day among the strangeness, without
rest or food, to make holiday for the Londoners, a night
heavy as lead and a week every day more mechanical.
Victoria had returned to the treadmill and, within a
week, knew it.

• ' • • The clock struck five. Victoria awoke fi'om
her dream epic. She had won her battle and sailed
into harbour. Its waters were already as horribly
still as those of a stagnant pool. The old chestnut
vendor sat motionless on her seat of firewood and
string. Not a thought chased over her gnarled brown
face. From the stove came the faint pungent smell
of the charring peel.

CHAPTER XX

A FORTNIGHT later Victoria had returned to the City.
Most of the old P.R's had reopened, after passing
under the yoke. A coat of paint had transformed
them into P.R.R's. In fact their extinction was
complete ; nothing was left of them but the P. and
the chairmanship of the amalgainated company, for their
chairman was an earl and part of the goodwill. The
P.R. had apparently been bought up at a fair rate ;
its shares having fallen to sixpence most of the share-
holders had lost large sums, whereas the directors
and their friends, displaying the acumen that is
sometimes found among directors, had quietly bought
the shares up by the thousand and by putting them
into the new company had realised large profits. As
the failure had happened during the old year and most
of the shops had been reopened in the new, it was
quite clear that the catering trade was expanding.
It was a startling instance of commercial progress.

Within a week the P.R.R. decided to start once
more in the Cit3^ Victoria, by her own request, was
transferred to Moorgate Street. She did not like the
neighbourliood of Oxford Circus ; it was unfamilar
without being stimulating. She objected too to
serving women. If she must serve at all she pre-
ferred serving men. She did not worship men ;
indeed the impression they had left on her was
rather unpleasant. The subalterns at the mess were
dull, Mr Parker a stick, Bobby was Bobby, Burton a
cur, Stein a lout. Beauty, well perhaps Beauty was

A BED OF ROSES 155

a little better and Cairns worthy of a kind thought,
but all the others, boys and half men with their futile
talk, their slang cribbed from the music halls, their
affectations, their loud ties, were nothing but the
ballast on which the world has founded its permanent
way. Yet a mysterious sex instinct made Victoria
prefer even them to the young ladies who frequented
Princes Street. It is better to be made loA^e to
insolently than to be ordered about.

The Moorgate P.R.R. was one of the curious crosses
between the ice cream shop and the chop house where
thirty bob a week snatches a sixpenny lunch. It was
full of magnificent indifference. You could bang your
twopence for a small coffee or luxuriate in steak and
kidney pie, boiled {i.e. potatoes), stewed prunes and
cream and be served with the difference of interest
that the recording angel may make between
No. 1,000,000 and No. 1,000,001. You were seldom
looked at and, if looked at, forgotten. It was as
blatant as the ' Rosebud ' had been discreet. Painted
pale blue, it flaunted a plate glass window full of
cakes, packets of tea, pounds of chocolate, jars of
sweets ; some imitation chops garnished with imita-
tion parsley and a chafing dish full of stage eggs
and bacon held out the promise of strong meats.
Enormous urns, polished like silver, could be seen
fi'om the outside emitting clouds of steam ; under
the chafing dish too came up vaporous jets.

Inside, the P.R.R. recalled the wilderness and the
animation of a bank. To the blue and red tesselated
floor were fastened many marble topped tables
squeezed so close together that, when a customer rose
to leave, he created an eddy among his disturbed
fellows. The floor was swamped with chairs which,
during the lunch hour, dismally grated on the tiled
floor. It was clean, for after every burst of feeding,
the appointed scavenger swept the fallen crusts,
fragments of pudding, cigarette ends and banana

156 A BED OF ROSES

skins into a large bin. This bin was periodically
emptied and the contents sent to the East End,
whether to be destroyed or to be used for pliilan-
thropic purposes is not known.

The girls were trained to quick service here.
Victoria found no difficulty in acquiring the P.R.R.
swing, for she had not to memorise the variety of
dishes which the more fastidious Rosebudders
demanded. Her mental load seldom went beyond
small teas, a coffee or two, half a veal and ham pie,
sandwiches and porridge. There was no considering
the bill of fare. It stood on every table, immutable
as a constitution and as dull. At the P.R.R. a man
absorbed his maximum of stodgy food, paid his
minimum of cash and vanished into an office to pour
out the resultant energy for thirty bob a week. As
there were no tips Victoria soon learned that courtesy
was wasted, so wasted none.

The P.R.R. did not treat its girls badly in this
sense that it treated them no worse than its rivals
did theirs ; it practised commercial morality. Victoria
received eight shillings a week, to which good
vSamaritans added an average of fourteen pence,
dropped anonymously into the unobtrusive box near
the cash desk. At the ' Rosebud ' tips averaged
fourteen shillings a week, but then they were given
publicly.

Besides her wages she was given all her meals,
on a scale suited to girls who waited on i\lr Thirty
Bob a Week. Her breakfast was tea, bread and
margarine ; her dinner, cold pudding or pie, accord-
ing to the unpopularity of the dishes among the
r;ustomers, washed down once more with tea and
sometimes followed by stewed fi'uit if the quantity
that remained made it clear that some would be left
over. The day ended with supper, tea, bread and
cheese, a variety of Cheddar which the company
bought by the ton on account of its peculiar capacity

A BED OF ROSES 157

for swelling and producing a veiy tolerable substitute
for repletion.

As Victoria was now paid less than half her former
wages she was expected to work longer hours. The
P.R.R. demanded faithfid. service from half -past
eight in the morning to nine in the evening, except
on one day when freedom was earned at six. Victoria
was driven to generalise a little about this ; it struck
her as peculiar that an increase of work should
synchronise with a decrease of pay, but the early
steps in any education always fill the pupil with
wonderment.

Yet she did not repine, for she remembered too well
the black days of the old year when the wolf slunk
round the house, coming every day nearer to her
door. She had beaten him oil and there still was
joy in the thought of that victory. Her fi-ame of
mind was quiescent, tempered still with a feeling of
relief. This she shared with her companions, for
every one of them had known such straits as hers and
worse. They had come back to the P.R.R. filled
with exceeding joy ; cra-\ang bread they had been
given buns.

The Moorgate P.R.R. was a big depot. It boasted^
in addition to the ground floor, two smoking rooms,
one on the first floor and one underground, as well as
a ladies' dining room on the second floor. It had a
staff of twenty waitresses, six of whom were stationed
in the underground smoking room ; Victoria was one
of these. A virile manageress dominated them and
drove with splendid efiiciency a concealed kitchen
team of four who sweated in the midst of steam in an
underground stokehole.

Victoria's companions were all old P.R.'s, except
Betty. They all had anything between two and five
years' service behind them. Nelly, a big raw boned
country girl, was still assertive and loud ; she had
good looks of the kind that last up to thirty, made up

I5S A BED OF ROSES

of fine coarse healthy flesh lines, tending to redden
at the nostrils and at the ears ; her hands were
shapely still, though reddened and thickened by
swabbing floors and tables. Maud was a poor little
thing, small boned with a flaccid covering of white
flesh, inclined to quiver a little when she felt
unhappy ; her eyes were undecidedly^ green, her hair
carroty in the extreme. She had a trick of drawing
down the corners of her mouth which made her look
pathetic. Amy and Jenny were both short and
darkish, inclined to be thin, always a little tired,
always willing, always in a state neither happy nor
unhappy. Both had nearly five years' experience and
coidd look forward to another fifteen or so. They had
no assertiveness, so could not aspire to a managerial
position such as might eventually fall to the share
of Nelly.

Betty was an exception. She had not acquired the
P.R.R. manner and probablj^ never would. The
daughter of a small draper at Horlej^ she had lived
through a happj^ childhood, played in the fields, been
to a little private school. Her father had strained
everj^ nerve to face on the one hand the competition
of the London stores extending octopus like into the
far suburbs, on the other that of the pedlars. Caught
between the aristocracy and the democracy of com-
merce he had slowly been gi'oimd doAvn. When
Betty was seventeen he collapsed through worry and
overwork. His wife attempted to carry on the
business after his death, bravely facing the enemy,
discharging assistants, keeping the books, impressing
Betty to dress the window, then to clean the shop.
But the pressure had become too great, and on the
day when the mortgagees foreclosed she died.
Nothing was left for Betty except the clothes she
stood in. Some poor relatives in London induced
her to join the ' Lethe.' That was three years ago
and now she was twenty.

A BED OF ROSES 159

Betty was the tall slim girl into whose breast
Victoria had thrust her elbow when they were fighting
for bread among the crowd which surged round the
door of the Princes Street depot. She was pretty,
j)erhaps a little too delicately so. Her sandy hair
and wide open china blue eyes made one think of a
doll, but the impression disappeared when one
looked at her long limbs, her slightly sunken cheeks.
She had a sweet disposition, so gentle that, though
she was a favourite, her fellows despised her a little
and were inclined to call her * poor Betty, ' She was
nearly always tired ; when she was well she was full
of simple and honest merriment. She would laugh
then if a motor bus skidded or if she saw a Highlander
in a kilt. She had just been shifted to the Moorgate
Street P.R.R. From the first the two girls had made
friends and Victoria was deeply glad to meet her
again. The depth of that gladness is only known to
those who have lived alone in a hostile world,

' Betty,' said Victoria the first morning, ' there's
something I want to say, I've had it on my mind.
Do you remember the first time we met outside
the old P.R. in Princes Street? '

* Don't I ? ' said Betty. ' We had a rough time,
didn't we ? '

' We had. And, Betty, perhaps you remember . . .
I hit you in the chest. I've thought of it so often . . .
and you don't know how sorry I am when I think of it.'

' Oh, I didn't mind,' said Bettj^ a blush rising to
her fcrehead, ' I understand. I was about starA'ing,
you know, I thought you were the same.'

*No, not starving exactly,' said Victoria, 'mad
rather, terrified, like a sheep which the dog's driving.
But I beg your pardon, Betty, I oughtn't to have
done it.'

Betty put her hand gently on her companion's.

'I understand, Vic,' she said, 'it's all over now;
we're friends, aren't we ? '

i6o A BED OF ROSES

Victoria returned the pressure. That day established
a tender link iDetween these two. Sometimes, in the
slack of three o'clock, they would sit side by side for
a moment, their shoulders touching. When they
met between the tables, running, their foreheads
beaded with sweat, iliey exchanged a smile.

The customers at the P. R. R. were so many that
Victoria could hardly retain an impression of them.
A few were curious though, in the sense that they
were typical. One corner of the room was occupied
during the lunch hour by a small group of chess
players ; live of the six boards were regularly captured
by them. They sat there in couples, their eyes glued
to the board, allowing the grease to cake slowly on
their food ; from time to time one would swallow
a mouthful, sometimes dropping morsels on the
table. These he would bi-ush away dreamily, his
thoughts far away, two or three moves ahead. Round
each table sat a little group of spectators who now
and tlien shifted their plates and cups from table to
table and watched the games. At times, when a
game ended, a table was involved in a fierce discus-
sion : gambits, ]\Iorphy's classical games, were thrown
about. On the other side of the room the young
domino-players noisily playing matador, fives and
threes, or plain matching would look round and
mutter a gibe at the enthusiasts.

Others were more personal. One, a repulsive
individual, Greek or Levantine, patronised one of
Betty's tables every day. He was fat, yellow and
loud ; over his invariably dirty hands drooped
invariably dirty cuffs ; on one finger he wore a large
diamond ring.

'It makes me sick sometimes,' said Betty to
Victoria, ' you know he eats with both hands and
drops his food ; he snuffles too, as he eats, like a pig.'

Another was an old man with a beautiful thin
brown face and white hair. He sat at a very small

A BED OF ROSES i6i

table, so small that lie was usually alone. Every
day lie ordered dry toast, a glass of milk and some
stewed fruit. He never read or smoked, nor did he
raise his eyes from the table. An ancient bookkeeper
perhaps, he lived on some principle.

Most of the P. R. R. types were however scheduled.
They were mainly young men or boys between fifteen
and twenty. All were clad in blue or dark suits,
wore flannel shirts, dickeys and no cuffs. They would
congregate in noisy groups, talk with furious energy
and smoke Virginia cigarettes with an air of dare
devilry. Now and then one of these would be sitting
alone, reading unexpected papers such as the Times,
borrowed from the office. Spasmodically too one
would be seen improving his mind. Victoria, within
six months, noticed three starts on the part of one
of the boys ; French, bookkeeping and electrical
engineering.

Many were older than these. There were little
groups of yomig men rather rakishly but shabbily
dressed ; often they wore a flower in their buttonhole.
The old men were more pathetic ; their faces were
expressionless ; they came to eat, not to feast.

Victoria and Betty had many conversations about
the customers. Every day Victoria felt her faculty
of wonder increase ; she was vaguely conscious
already that men had a tendency to revert to types,
but she did not realise the influence the conditions of
their lives had upon them.

' It's curious,' she once said to Betty, as they left
the depot together, ' they're so much alike.'

' I suppose they are,' said Betty. ' I wonder why ? '

'I'm not sure,' said Victoria, ' but it seems to me
somehow that they must be born different but that
they become alike because they do the same kind
of work.'

' It's rather awful, isn't it ? ' said Betty.

'Awful? Well, I suppose it is. Think of it,

L

i62 A BED OF ROSES

Betty. There's old Dry Toast, for instance. I'm
sure he's been doing whatever he does do for thirty
or fort}^ years.'

'And '11 go on doing it till he dies,' murmured
Betty.

' Or goes into the workhouse,' added Victoria. A
sudden and horrible lucidity had come over her.
' Yes, Bettj^ that's what it means. The boys are
going to be like the old man ; we see them every day
becoming like him. First they're in the twenties
and are smart and read the s^Dorting news ; then they
seem to get fat and don't shave every day, because
they feel it's getting late and it doesn't matter what
they look like ; their hair grows grey, they take up
chess or German, or something equally ridiculous.
They don't get a chance. They're born and as soon
as they can kick they're thrust in an ofhce to do the
same thing every day. Nobody cares ; all their
employers want them to do is to be punctual and do
what they're paid thirty bob a week for. Soon they
don't try ; they die, and the employers fill the billet.'

* How do you know all this, Vic ? ' said Betty,
eyeing her fearfully. ' It seems so true.'

' Oh, I just felt it suddenly, besides . . .' Victoria
hesitated.

' But is it right that they should get thirty bob a
week all their lives while their employers are getting
thousands ? ' asked Betty, fidl of excitement.

' I don't know,' said Victoria slowly. Betty's voice
liad broken the charm. She could no longer see
the vision.

CHAPTER XXI

The days passed away horribly long. Victoria was
now an automaton ; she no longer felt much of sorrow
or of joy. Her home life had been reduced to a
minimum, for she could no longer afford the luxury
of ' chambers in the West End ' as Betty put it. She
had moved to Finsbury where she had found a large
attic for thi-ee shillings a week, in a house which had
fallen from the state of mansion for a City merchant
to that of tenement dwelling. For the first time
since she returned to London she had furnished her
own room. She had bought out the former tenant
for one pound. For this sum she had entered into
possession of an iron bedstead with a straw mattress,
a thick horse cloth, an iron washstand supplied with
a blue basin and a white mug, an old armchair and
red curtains. She had no sheets, which meant dis-
comfort but saved washing. A chair had cost her
two shillings ; she needed no cupboard as there was
one in the wall ; in lieu of a chest of drawers she had
her trunk ; her few books were stacked on a shelf
made out of the side of a packing case and erected
by herself. She got water from the landing every
morning except when the taps were frozen. There
was no fireplace in the attic, but in the present state
of Victoria's income this did not matter much.

Every morning she rose at seven, washed, dressed.
As time went on she ceased to dust and sweep every
morning. First she postponed the work to the
evening, then to the week end. On Sundays she

163

i64 A BED OF ROSES

breakfasted off a stale loaf bought among tlie roar of
Farrington Street the previous evening. A little
later she introduced a spirit lamp for tea ; it was
a revolution, even though she could never muster
enough energy to bring in milk.

iVfter the first flush of possession, the horrible
gloom of winter had engulfed her. Sometimes she
sat and froze in the attic and, in despair, went to
bed after vainly trying to read Shakespeare by the
light of a candle : he did not interest her much. At
other times the roaring streets, the flares in the
brown fog, the trams hurtling tlu'ough the air, their
headlights blazing, had frightened her back to her
home. On Sundays, after luxuriating in bed until
ten, she usually went to meet Betty who lived in a
club in Soho. Together they would walk in the
parks, or the squares, wherever grass grew. At
one o'clock Betty would introduce her as a guest
at her club and feast her for eightpence on roast beef
and pudding, tea and bread and butter. Then they
would start out once more towards the fields, some-
times towards Hampstead Heath, or if it rained seek
refuge in a museum or a picture gallery. When they
parted in the evening, Victoria kissed her affection-
ately. Betty would then hold the elder woman in
her anns, hungrily almost, and softly kiss her again.

Tlie onl}^ thing that parted these two at all was
the myster}'- which Betty guessed at. She knew that
Victoria was not like the other girls ; she felt that
there was behind her friend's present condition a
])ast of another kind, but when she tried to question
A'ictoria, slie found that her friend froze up. And
as slie loved her tliis was a daily grief ; slic looked
at Victoria with a question in her eyes. But Victoria
would not yield to the temptation of confiding in her ;
she had adopted a ncAv class and was not going back
on it.

Besides Betty there was no one in her life. None

A BED OF ROSES 165

of the other girls were able to meet her on congenial
ground ; Beauty had not got her address and, though
she had his, she was too afraid of complicating her
life to wi'ite to him. She had sent her address to
Edward as a matter of form, but he had not written ;
apparently her desire for freedom had convinced him
that his sister was mad. None of the men at the
P.R.R. had made any decided advances to her. She
could still catch every day a glitter in the eye of
some youth, but her maturity discouraged the boys
and the older men were mostly too deeply sunk in
their feeding and smoking to attempt gallantry.
Besides Victoria was no longer the cream coloured
flower of olden days ; she was thinner ; her hands
too were becoming coarse owing to her having to
swab tables and floors ; much standing and the fetid
air of the smoking-room were making her sallow.

Soon after Victoria entered into possession of her
' station ' she knew most of her customers, knew them
that is as much as continual rushes from table to
counter, from floor to floor permits. The casuals,
mostly young, left no impression ; lacking money
but craving variety these youths would patronise
every day a different P.R.R., for they hoped to find
in a novel arrangement of the counter, a new waitress,
larger or smaller quarters, the element of variety
which the bill of fare relentlessly denied them. The
older men were more faithful if no more grateful.
One of them was a short thin man, looking about
forty, who for some hidden reason had aroused
Victoria's faded interest. His appearance was some-
what peculiar. His shortness, combined with his
thinness and breadth, was enough to attract attention.
Standing hardly more than five foot five he had
disproportionately broad shoulders and yet they were
so thin that the bones showed bowed at the back.
Better fed, he would have been a bulky man. His
hair was dark, streaked with grey and, as it was

i66 A BED OF ROSES

getting very thin and beginning to recede, he gave
the impression of having a xeij high forehead. His
eyes were grey, set ratlier deep under thick eyebrows
drawn close together into a permanent frown. Under
his rather coarse and irregular nose his mouth showed
closely compressed, almost lipless ; a curious muscular
distortion had tortured into it a faint sneer. His
hands were broad, a little coarse and very hairy.

Victoria could not say why she was interested in
this man. He had no outward graces, dressed poorly
and obviously brushed his coat but seldom ; his linen
too was not often quite clean. Immediately on sitting
down at his usual table he would open a book, prop
it up against the sugar bowl and begin to read. His
books did not tell Victoria much ; in two months she
noted a few books she did not know, Neics from
Nowhere, Fabian Essays, The Odyssey, and a book
with a long title the biggest printed word of which
was Niestze or Niesche. Victoria could never re-
member tliis word, even though her customer read
the book every day for over a month. The Odyssey
she had heard of, but that did not tell her any-
thing.

She had fomid out his name accidentally. One day
he had brought down three books and had put two
under his seat while he read the third. Soon after
he had left, reading still while he went up the stairs.
Victoria found the books under the chair. One was
a Life of William Morris, the other the Vindication
of the Eights of Women. On the flyleaf of each was
written in bold letters ' Thomas Farwell.'

Victoria could not resist glancing at the books
during her half hour for lunch. The Life of William
Morris she did not attempt, remembering her experi-
ences at school with ' Lives ' of any kind : they were
all dull. Marie Wollstonecraft's book seemed more
interesting, but she seemed to have to wade through
60 much that she had never heard of and to have to

A BED OF ROSES 167

face a style so crabbed and congested that she hardly
understood it. Yet, something in the book interested
her and it was regretfully that she handed the volumes
back to Farwell when he called for them at half-past
six. He thanked her in half a dozen words and
left.

Farwell continued regular in his attendance. He
came in on the stroke of one, left at half-past one
exactly, lighting his pipe as he got up. He never
spoke to anyone ; when Victoria stood before his table
he looked at her for a moment, gave his order and
cast his eyes down to his book.

It was about three weeks after the incident of the
books that he spoke to Victoria. As he took up the
bill of fare he said suddenly :

' Did you read the Vindication ? '

*I did glance through it,' said Victoria, feeling,
she did not know why, acutely uncomfortable.

' Ah ? interesting, isn't it ? Pity it's so badly
written. What do you think of it ? '

' Well, I hardly know,' said Victoria reflectively ;
'I didn't have time to read much; what I read
seemed tnie.'

' You think that a recommendation, eh ? ' said
Farwell, his lips parting slightly. 'I'd have
thought you saw enough truth about life here to like
lies.'

'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't care for lies. The
nastier a thing is, the better everybody should know
it ; then one day people will be ashamed.'

' Oh, an optimist,' sniggered Farwell. ' Bless j^ou
my child. Give me fillets of plaice, small white
and cut.'

For several days after this Farwell took no notice
of Victoria. He gave his order and opened his book
as before. Victoria made no advances. She had
talked him over with Betty, who had advised her to
await events.

i68 A BED OF ROSES

' You never know,' she liad remarked, as a clinching
argument,

A day or two later Victoria was startled by Farwell's
arrival at half-past six. This had never happened
before. The smoking-room was almost empty, as it
was too late for teas and a little too early for suppers.
Farw^ll sat down at his usual table and ordered a
small tea. As Victoria returned with the cup he took
out a book fi'om under two others and held it out.

' Look here,' he said a little nervously, ' I don't
know whether you're busy after hours, but perhaps
you might like to read this.' The wrinkles in his
forehead expanded and dilated a little.

' Oh, thank you so much. I would like to read it,'
said Victoria with the ring of earnestness in her voice.
She took the book ; it was a battered copy of No. 5
John Street.

' No. 5 ? What a queer title,' she said.

* Queer? not at all,' said Farwell. 'It only seems
cfueer to you because it's natural and you're not used
to that. You're a number in the P.R.R. aren't you ?
Just like the house you live in. And you're just
number so and so ; so am I. When we die fate shoves
up the next number and it all begins over again.'

' That doesn't sound very cheerful, does it ? ' said
Victoria.

' It isn't cheerful. It's merely a fact.'

' I suppose it is,' said Victoria. ' Nobody is ever
missed.'

Farwell looked at her critically. The platitude
worried him a little ; it was unexpected.

' Yes, exactly,' he stammered. ' Anyhow, you read
it and let me know what you think of it.' Thereupon
he took up another book and began to read.

When he had gone Victoria showed her prize to
Betty.

' You're getting on,' said Betty with a smile.
' You'll be Mrs Farwell one of these days, I suppose.'

A BED OF ROSES 169

' Don't be ridiculous, Betty,' snapped Victoria, ' why
I'd have to wash him.'

' You might as well wash a husband as a dish,' said
Betty smoothly. ' Anyhow, the other girls are
talking.'

' Let them talk,' said Victoria rather savagely, ' so
long as they don't talk to me.'

Betty took her hand gently.

' Sorry, Vic dear,' she said. ' You're not angiy with
me, are you ? '

' No, of course not, you silly,' said Victoria laughing.
' There run away, or that old gent at the end'll take
a fit.'

Farwell did not engage her in conversation for a
few days, nor did she make any advances to him.
She read through No. 5 John Street within three
evenings ; it held her with a horrible fascination.
Her first plunge into realistic literature left her
shocked as by a cold bath. In the early days, at
Lympton, she had subsisted mainly on Charlotte
Young and Rhoda Broughton. In India, the mess
having a subscription at Mudie's, she had had good
opportunities of reading, but for no particular reason,
except perhaps that she was newly married and busy
with regimental nothings, she had ceased to read
anything beyond the Sketch and the Sporting
and Dramatic. Thus she had never heard of the
' common people ' except as persons born to minister
to the needs of the rich. Slie had never felt any
interest in them, for they spoke a language that was
not hers. No. 5 John Street, coming to her a long
time after the old happy days, when she herself was
struggling in the mire, was a horrible revelation ; it
showed her herself and herself not as 'Tilda towering
over fate, but as Nancy withering in the india-rubber
works for the benefit of the Ridler system.

She read feverishly by the light of a candle. At
times she was repelled by the vulgarity of Low

J70 A BED OF ROSES

Covey, by the gi-ossness which seemed to revel in
poverty and dirt. But when she cast her eyes round
her own bare walls, looked at her sheetless bed,
a shiver ran over her.

' These are my people,' she said aloud. The candle,
clamouring for the snuffers, guttered, sank low, nearly
went out.

Shivering again before the omen, she trimmed the
wick. She returned the book to Farwell by slipping
it on the table next day. He took it without a word
but returned at half past six as before.
' Well ? ' he asked with a faint smile.
' Thank you so much,' said Victoria. ' It's
wonderful.'

'Wonderful indeed? Most commonplace, don't
vou think ? '

' Oh, no,' said Victoria. ' Its extraordinary, it's like
. . . like light.'

Farwell's eyes suddenly glittered.
' Ah,' he said dreamily, ' light ! light in this, the
outer darkness.'

Victoria looked at him, a question in her eyes.
'If only we could all see,' he went on. ' Then, as
by a touch of a magician's wand, flowers would crowd
out the thistles, the thistles that the asses eat and
thank their God for. It is in our hands to make this
the Happy Valley and we make it the Valley of the
Shadow of Death.'

He paused for a moment. Victoria felt her pulse
quicken.

' Yes,' she said, ' I think I understand. It's because
we don't understand that we suffer. We're not cruel,
are we ? we're stupid.'

' Stupid ? ' A ferocious intonation had come into
Farwell's voice. 'I should say so! Forty million
men, women and children sweat their lives out day
by day so that four million may live idly and become
too heavy even to think. I could forgive them if

A BED OF ROSES 171

they tlionght, but the world contains only two types :
Lazarus with poor man's gout and Dives with fatty
degeneration of the brain.'

Victoria felt nervous. Passion shook the man's
hands as he clutched the marble top of the table.

'Mr Farwell,' she faltered, 'I don't want to be
stupid. I want to understand things. I want to
know why we slave twelve hours a day when others
do nothing and, oh, can it be altered? '

Farwell had started at the mention of his name.
His passion had suddenly fallen.

' Altered ? oh, yes,' he stammered, ' that's if the
race lasts long enough. Sometimes I think, as I see
men struggling to get on top of one another, like
crabs in a bucket . . . Like crabs in a bucket,' he
repeated dreamily, visualising the simile. ' But I
cannot draw men fi'om stones,' he said smiling ; ' it
is not yet time for Deucalion. I'll bring you another
book to-morrow.'

Farwell rose abruptly and left Victoria singularly
stirred. He was a personality, she felt ; something
C|uite unusual. Hewas less a man than a figment, for
he seemed top heavy almost. He concentrated the
hearer's attention so much on his spoken thought
that his body passed unperceived, receded into the
distance.

While Victoria was changing to go, the staff room
somehow seemed darker and dirtier than ever. It was
seldom swept and never cleaned out. The manage-
ment had thoughtfully provided nothing but pegs and
wooden benches, so as to discourage lounging. Victoria
was rather late, so that she found herself alone with
Lizzie, the cashier. Lizzie was red-haired, very curlj^,
plump, pink and white. A regular little spark. She
was very popular ; her green eyes and full curved
figure often caused a small block at the desk.

' You look tired,' she said good-naturedly.

' I suppose I am ? ' said Victoria. ' Aren't you ? '

172 A BED OF ROSES

' So so. Don't mind my job.'

'Mm, I suppose it isn't so bad sitting at tlie desk.'

' No,' said Lizzie, ' pays too.'

'Pays?'

Lizzie flushed and hesitated. Tlien the desire to
boast burst its bonds. She must tell, she must. It
didn't matter after all. A craving for admiration
was on her.

' Tell you what,' she whispered. ' I get quite two
and a kick a week out of that job.'

Victoria's eyebrows went up.

' You know,' went on Lizzie, 'the boys look at me a
bit.' She simpered slightly. 'Well, once one of
them gave me half a bar with a bob check. He was
looking me in the eye, well that mashed, I can tell
you he looked like a boiled fish. Sort of inspiration
came over me.' She stopped.

' Well ? ' asked Victoria, feeling a little nervous.

' Well ... I ... I gave him one half crown and
three two bob pieces. Smiled at him. He boned
the money quick enough, wanted to touch my hand
you see. Never saw it.'

Victoria thought for a moment. ' Then you gave
him eight and six instead of nine shillings? '

' You've hit it. Bless you, he never knew. Mashed,
I can tell you.'

' Then you did him out of sixpence ? '

' Right. Comes off once in three. Say " sorry "
when I'm caught and smile and it's all right. Never
try it twice on the same man.'

'I call that stealing,' said Victoria coldly.

' You can call it what you like,' snarled Lizzie.
* Everything's stealing. What's business ? getting a
quid for what costs you a tanner. I'm putting a bit
extra on my wages.'

Victoria shrugged her shoulders. She might have
argued with Lizzie as she had once argued with
Gertie, but the vague truth that lurked in Lizzie's

A BED OF ROSES 175

economics had deprived her of argument. Could
theft sometimes be something else than theft ? Were
all things theft ? And above all, did the acceptance
of a woman's hand as bait justify the hooking of a
sixpence ?

As Victoria left for home that night she felt restless.
She could not go to bed so soon. She walked through
the silent city lanes, meeting nothing, save now and
then a cat on the prowl, or a policeman trying doors
and flashing his bull's eye through the gratings of
banks. The crossing at Mansion House was still
busy with the procession of omnibuses converging at
the feet of the Duke of Wellington. Drays, too
heavily loaded, rumbled slowly past towards Liverpool
Street. She turned northwards, walked quickly
through the desert. At Liverpool Street station she
stopped in the blaze of light. A few doors away
stood a shouting butcher praying the passers-by tO'
buj' his pretty meat. Further a fislunonger's stall, an
array of glistening black shapes on white marble, a
tobacconist, a jeweller, all aglow with coruscating
light. And over all, the blazing light of arc lamps,
under which an unending stream of motor cabs,
lorries, omnibuses passed in kaleidoscopic colours,
Li the full glare of a lamp post stood a woman, her
feet in the gutter. She was short, stunted, dirty and
thin of face and body. Round her wretched frame
a filthy black coat was tightly buttoned ; her muddy
skirt seemed ahnost falling from her slu'unken hips.
Crushed on her sallow face, hiding all but a few
^visps of hair, was a battered black straw hat. With
one arm she carried a child, thin of face too, and
golden-haired. On its upper lip a crusted sore
gleamed red and brown. Li her other hand she held
out a tin lid, in which were five boxes of matches,

Victoria looked at the silent watcher and passed on,
A few minutes later she remembered her and a fearful
flood of insight rushed upon her. The child ? Then

174 A BED OF ROSES

this, this creature had known love ? A man had
kissed those shrivelled lips. Something like a thrill
of disgust ran through her. That such things as
these could love and mate and bear children was
unspeakable ; the very touch of them was loathsome,
their love akin to unnatural vice.

As she walked further into Shoreditch the im-
pression of horror grew on her. It was not that the
lanes and little streets abutting into the High Street
were full of terrors when pitch dark, or more sinister
still in the pale yellow light of a single gas lamp ; the
High Street itself, filled with men and women, most
of them shabby, some loudly dressed in crude colom's,
shouting, laughing, jostling one another off the foot-
path was more terrible, for its joy of life was brutal as
the joy of the pugilist who feels his opponent's teeth
crunch under his fist.

At a corner, near a public house blazing with lights,
a small crowd watched two women who were about
to fight. They had not come to blows yet ; their duel
was purely Homeric. Victoria listened with greedy
horror to the terrible recurrence of half a dozen words.

A child squirmed through the crowd, crying, and
caught one of the fighters by her skirt.

'Leave go . . . I'll rive the guts out 'o yer.'

With a swing of the body the woman sent the child
flying into the gutter. Victoria hurried from the
spot. She made towards the West now, between the
gin shops, the barrows under their blazing naphtha
lamps. She was afraid, horribly afraid.

Sitting alone in her attic, her hands crossed before
her, questions intruded upon her. Why all this pain,
this violence, by the side of life's graces ? Could it
be that one went with the other, indissolubly ? And
could it be altered before it was too late, before the
earth was flooded , overwhelmed with pain ?

She shpped into bed and drew the horsecloth over
her ears. The world was best shut out.

CHAPTER XXII

Thomas Farwell collected tlu-ee volumes from his
desk, two pamplilets and a banana. It was six
o'clock and, the partners liaving left, lie was his own
master half an hour earlier than usual.

' You off ? ' said the junior from the other end of
the desk.

' Yes. Half an hour to the good.'

' What's the good of half an hour ? ' said the youth
superciliously.

* No good unless you think it is, like e\"erything
else,' said Farwell. ' Besides, I may be run over by
half past six.'

' Cheerful as ever,' remarked the junior, bending
his head down to the petty cash balance.

Farwell took no notice of him. Ten times a day
he cursed himself for wasting words upon this
troglodyte. He was a youth long as a day's starva-
tion, with a biilbous forehead, stooping narrow
shoulders and narrow lips ; his shape resembled
that of an old potato. He peered through his
glasses with watery eyes hardly darker than his
grey face.

' Good night,' said Farwell cm'tly.

* Cheer, oh ! ' said the junior.

Farwell slammed the door behind him. He felt
inclined to skip down the stairs, not that anything
particularly pleasant had happened but because the
bells of St Botolph's were pealing out a chime of
freedom. It was six. He had nothing to do. The

176 A BED OF ROSES

best thing was to go to Moorgate Street and take
the books to Victoria. On secQnd thoughts, no, he
would wait. Six o'clock might still be a busy
time.

Farwell walked down the narrow lane from Bishops-
gate into St Botolph's churchyard. It was a dank
and dreary evening, dark already. The wind swept
over the paths in little whirlwinds. Dejected sparrows
sought scraps of food among the ancient graves
where office boj^s munch buns and read of wood-
carving and desperate adventure. He sat down on
a seat by the side of a shape that slept, and opened
one of the books, though it was too dark to read.
The shape lifted an eyelid and looked at him.

Farwell turned over the pages listlessly. It was
a history of revolutionists. For some reason he hated
them to-day, all of them. Jack Cade was a boor,
Cromwell a tartuffe, Bolivar a politician, Mazzini
a theorist. It would bore Victoria.

Farwell brought himself up with a jerk. He was
thinking of Victoria too often. As he was a man who
faced facts he told himself quite plainly that he did
not intend to fall in love with her. He did not feel
capable of love ; he hated most people but did not
believe tliat a good hater was a good lover.

'Clever, of course,' he muttered, 'but no woman
is everlastingly clever. I won't risk finding her out.'

The shape at his side moved. It was an old man,
filthy, clad in blackened rags, with a matted beard.
Farwell glanced at him and turned away.

' I'd have you poisoned if I could,' he thought.
Then he returned to Victoria. Was she worth educa-
ting ? And supposing she was educated, what then ?
She would become discontented, instead of brutalised.
The latter was the happier state. Or she would fall
in love vriih him, when he would give her short
shrift. What a pity. A tiny wave of sentiment
flowed into Farwell's soul.

A BED OF ROSES 177

' Clever, clever,' he thought, ' a little house, babies,
roses, a fox terrier.'-

' Gov'nor,' croaked a hoarse voice beside him.

Farwell turned quickly. The shape was alive,
then, curse it.

' Well, what d'you want ? '

' Give us a copi^er, gov'nor, I'm an old man, can't
work. S'elp me. Gawd, gov'nor, 'aven't 'ad a bite. . . .'

' That'll do, 3'ou fool,' snarled Farwell, ' why the
hell don't you go and get it in gaol ? '

' Yer don't mean that, gov'nor, do yer ? ' whined
the old man, ' I always kep my self respectable ; 'ere,
look at these 'ere testimonials, gov'nor, . . .' He drew
from his coat a disgusting object, a bundle of papers
tied together with string.

'I don't want to see them,' said Farwell. 'I
wouldn't employ you if I could. Why don't you go
to the workhouse ? '

The old man almost bridled.

' Why ? Because you're a stuck up. D'you hearf?
You're proud of being poor. That's about as vidgar
as bragging because you're rich. If you and all the
likes of you went into the House, you'd refonn the
system in a week. Understand ? '

The old man's eyes were fixed on the speaker,
uncomprehending.

' Better still, go and throw any bit of dirt you pick
up at a policeman,' continued Farwell. ' See he gets
it in the mouth. You get locked up. Suppose a
million of the likes of you do the same, what d'you
think happens ? '

' I dunno,' said the old man.

' Well, your penal system is bust. If you offend
the law you're a criminal. But what's the law ? the
opinion of the majority. If the majority goes against
the law, then the minority becomes criminal. The
world's upside down.' Farwell smiled. ' The world's
upside down,' he said softly, licking his lips.

M

178 A BED OF ROSES

' Give us a copper for a bed, guv'nor,' said the old
man dully.

' What's the good of a bed to you ? ' exploded
Farwell. ' Why don't you have a drink r '

' I'm a teetotaller, guv'nor ; always kep' myself
respectable.'

' Respectable ! You're earning the wages of
respectabilit}', that is death,' said Farwell with
a wolfish laugh. ' Why man, can't you see you've
been on the wrong tack ? We don't want any more
of you respectables. We want pirates, vampires.
We want all this society of yours rotted by internal
canker, so that we can build a new one. But w^e must
rot it first. We aren't going to work on a sow's ear.'

' Give us a copper, guv'nor,' moaned the old man.

Farwell took out sixpence and laid it on the seat.
' Now then,' he said, ' you can have this if you'll
swear to blow it in drink.'

' I will, s'elp me Gawd,' said the old man eagerly.

Farwell pushed the coin towards him.

' Take it, teetotaller,' he sneered, ' your respectable
system of bribery has bought you for sixpence. Now
let me see you go into that pub.'

The old man clutched the sixpence and staggered
to his feet. Farwell watched the swing doors of the
public bar at the end of the passage close behind him.
Then he got up and walked away ; it was about time
to go to Moorgate Street.

As he entered the smoking-room, Victoria blushed.
The man moved her, stimulated her. When she saw
him she felt like a body meeting a soul. He sat
do^vn at his usual place. Victoria brought him his
tea, and laid it before him without a word. Nelly,
lolling in another corner, kicked the ground, looking
away insolently from the elaborate wink of one of
the scullions.

' Here, read these,' said Farwell, pushing two of the
books across the table. Victoria picked them up.

A BED OF ROSES 179

' Looking Backwards ' ? she said. ' Oli, I don't want
to do that. It's forward I want to go.'

* A laudable sentiment,' sneered Farwell, ' tlie
theoiy of every Sunday School in the country, and
the practice of none. However, you'll find it
fairly soul filling as an unintelligent anticipation.
Personally I prefer the other. Demos is good stuff,
for Gissing went through the fire.'

Victoria quickly walked away. Farwell looked
surprised for a second, then saw the manageress on
the stairs.

' Faugh,' he muttered, ' if the world's a stage I'm
playing the part of a low intriguer.'

He sipped his tea meditatively. In a few minutes
Victoria returned.

' Thank you,' she whispered. ' It's good of you.
You're teaching me to live.'

Farwell looked at her critically.

' I don't see much good in that,' he said, ' unless
you've got something to live for. One of our
philosophers says you live either for experience or the
race. I recommend the former to myself, and to
you nothing.'

' Why shouldn't I live for anything ? ' she asked.

' Because life's too dear. And its pleasures are not
white but piebald.'

'I understand,' said Victoria, 'but I must live.'

*i7e nen vols pas la neeessite,^ quoted Farwell
smiling. ' Never mind what that means,' he added,
' I'm only a pessimist.'

The next few weeks seemed to create in Victoria
a new personality. Her reading was so carefully
selected that every line told. Farwell knew the
hundred best books for a working girl ; he had
a large library composed mostly of battered copies
squeezed out of his daily bread. Victoria's was the
appetite of a gorgon. Li another month she had
absorbed Odd Women, An Enemy of the People, The

iSo A BED OF ROSES

DolVs House, Alton Loche, and a translation of
Germinal. Eveiy niglit she read with an intensity
AA'hich made her forget that March chilled her to the
bone ; poring over the book, her eyes a few inches
from the candle, she soaked m rebellion. When the
cold nipped too close into her she would get up and
wi'ap herself in the horsecloth and read with saA^age
application, rushing to the core of the thought. She
was no student, so she would skip a hard word.
Besides, in those moods, when the spirit bounds in
the body like a caged bird, words are felt, not
understood.

Bett}' was still hovering round her, a gentle
presence. She knew what was going on and was
frightened. A new Victoria was rising before her,
a woman very charming still but extraordinary^
incomprehensible. Often Victoria would snub her
savagely, then take her hand as they stood together
at the counter bawling for food and drink. And as
Victoria grew hard and strong Betty worshipped her
more as she would have worshipped a strong man.

Yet Betty was not happy. Victoria lived now in
a state of excitement and hunger for solitude. She
took no interest in things that Betty could understand.
Their Sunday walks had been ruthlessly cut now and
then, for the fury was upon Victoria when eating the
fruits of the tree. When they were together now
Victoria was preoccupied ; she no longer listened to
the club gossip, nor did she ask to be told once more
tlie story of Betty's early daj-s.

' Do you know you're sweated ? ' she said suddenly
one day.

Betty's eyes opened round and blue.

' Sweated ? ' she said. 'I thought only people in
the East End were sweated.'

' The world's one big East End,' snapped Victoria.

Betty shivered. Farwell might have said that.

* You're sweated if you get two pounds a week,'

A BED OF ROSES i8i

continued Victoria. ' You're sweated when you buy
a loaf, sweated when you ride in a bus, sweated when
they cremate you.'

'I don't understand,' said Betty.

' All profits are sweated,' quoted Victoria from a
pamphlet.

' But people must make profits,' protested Betty.

' What for ? ' asked Victoria.

' How are people to live unless they make profits ? '
said Betty. ' Aren't our wages profits ? '

Victoria was nonplussed for a moment and became
involved. ' No, our wages are only wages ; profit is
the excess over our wages.'

' I don't understand,' said Betty.

' Never mind,' said Victoria, ' I'll ask Mr Farwell ;
he'll make it clear.'

Betty shot a dark blue glance at her.

' Vic,' she said softly, ' I think Mr FarwelL . . .'
Then she changed her mind. ' I can't, I can't,' she
thought. She crushed the jealous words down and
plunged.

' Vic, darling,' she faltered, ' I'm afraid you're not
weU. No, and not happy. I've been thinking of
something; Avhy shouldn't I leave the Club and
come and live with you.'

Victoria looked at her critically for a moment. She
thought of her independence, of this affection hover-
ing round her, sweet, dangerously clinging. But
Betty's blue eyes were wet.

' You're too good a pal for me, Betty,' she said in
a low voice. ' I'd make you miserable.'

'No, no,' cried Betty impulsively. 'I'd love it,
Vic dear, and you would go on reading and do what
you like. Only let me be with you.' _

Victoria's hand tightened on her friend's arm.

' Let me think, Betty dear,' she said.

Ten days later, Betty having won her point, the
great move was to take place at seven o'clock. It

i82 A BED OF ROSES

certainly lacked solemnity. For three days preceding
the great change Betty had hurried away from the
P.R.R, on the stroke of nine, quickly kissing Victoria
and saying she couldn't wait as she must pack.
Clearly her wardrobe could not be disposed of in a
twinkling. Yet, on moving day, at seven o'clock
sharp (the carrier having been thoughtfully com-
manded to deliver at five) a tin trunk kept together
by a rope, a tiny bath muzzled with a curtain and a
hat box loudly advertising somebody's tea were
dimiped on the doorstei^. The cart drove off leaving
the two girls to make tenus with a loafer. The
latter compromised for fourpence, slammed their
door behind him and lurched down the creaking
stairs. Betty threw herself into Victoria's anns.

Those first days were sweet. Betty rejoiced like a
lover in possession of a long desired mistress ; strip-
ping off her blouse and looking very pretty, showing
Tier white neck and slim anus, she stnitted about the
attic with a hammer in her hand and her mouth full
of nails. It took an evening to hang the curtain
which had muzzled the bath ; Betty's art treasures,
an oleograph of ' Bubbles ' and another of ' I'se
Biggest,' were cumiingly hung by Victoria so that
she could not see them on waking up.

Betty was active now as a will o' the wisp. She
invented little feasts, expensive vSundaj^ supp»ers of
fried fish and chips, produced a basket of oranges at
three a penny ; thanks to her there was now milk
with the tea. In a moment of enthusiasm Victoria
heard her murmur something about keeping a cat.
In fact the only thing that marred her life at all was
Victoria's absorption in her reading. Often Betty
would go to l)ed and stay awake, watching Victoria
at the table, her fingers ravelling her hair, reading
with an intentness that frightened her. vShe would
watch Victoria and see her face grow paler, except
at the cheeks where a flush woiild rise. A wild look

A BED OF ROSES 183

would come into her eyes. Sometimes she would get
wp suddenly and, thrusting the hair out of her eyes,
walk up and do^vn muttering things Betty could not
understand.

One night Betty woke up suddenly, and saw
Victoria standing in the moonlight clad only in her
nightgown. Words were surging from her lips.

'It's no good. ... I can't go on. ... I can't
go on until I die or somebody marries me. . . .
I won't marry : I won't do it. . . . Why should I
sell myself ? ... at any rate why should 1 sell myself
cheaply ? '

There was a pause. Betty sat up and looked at
her friend's wild face.

'What's it all mean after all? I'm only being
used. Sucked dry like an orange. By and by
they'll throw the peel away. Talk of brotherhood !
. . . It's war, war. . . . It's climbing and fighting
to get on top . . . like crabs in a bucket, like
crabs . . .'

* Vic,' screamed Betty.

Victoria started like a somnambulist aroused and
looked at her vaguely.

' Come back to bed at once,' cried Betty with
inspired firmness. Victoria obeyed. Betty drew
her down beside her under the horsecloth and threw
her arms round her ; Victoria's body was cold as ice.
Suddenl}^ she burst into tears and Betty, torn as if
she saw a strong man weep, wept too. Closely
locked in one another's arms they sobbed themselves
to sleep.

CHAPTER XXIII

Every day now Victoria's brain grew clearer and her
body weaker. A sullen spirit of revolt blended with
horrible depression was upon her, but she was getting
thinner, paler ; dark rings were forming round her
eyes. She knew pain now ; perpetual weariness,
twitchings in the ankles, stabs just above the knee.
In horrible listlessness she dragged her weary feet
over the tiled floor, responding to commands like the
old cab horse which can hardly feel the whip. In
this mood, growing chuiiisli, she repulsed Betty,
avoided Farwell and tried to seclude herself. She no
longer walked Holborn or the Strand where life went
by, but sought the mean and silent streets, where
none could see her shamble or where none would care.

One night, when she had left at six, she painfully
crawled home and up into the attic. At half -past
nine the door opened and Betty came in ; the room
was in darkness but something oppressed her; she
went to the mantlepiece to look for the matches, her
fingers trembling. For an eternity she seemed to
fumble, the oppression growing ; she felt that
Victoria was in the room and could only hope that
she was asleep. With a great effort of her will she
lit the candle before turning round. Then she gave
a short sharp scream.

Victoria was lying across the bed dressed in her
bodice and petticoat. She had tucked this up to her
knees and taken off her stockings ; her legs hung dead
white over the edge. At her feet was the tin bath full

.84

A BED OF ROSES 185

of water. Betty ran to the bed, choking ahnost, and
clasped her friend round the neck. It was some
seconds before she thought of wetting her face.
After some minutes Victoria returned to consciousness
and opened her eyes ; she groaned slightly as Betty
lifted up her legs and straightened her on the bed.

It was then that Betty noticed the singular appear-
ance of Victoria's legs. They were covered with a
network of veins, some narrow and pale blue in
colour, others darker, protruding and swollen ; on
the left calf one of the veins stood out like a rope.
The unaccustomed sight filled her with the horror
bred of a mysterious disease. She was delicate but
had never been seriously ill ; this sight filled her
with physical repulsion. For her the ugliness of
it meant foulness. For a moment she almost hated
Victoria, but the sight of the tin bath full of water
cut her to the heart ; it told her that Victoria,
maddened by mysterious pain, had tried to assuage
it by bathing her legs in the cold water.

Little by little A^ictoria came round ; she smiled
at Betty.

' Did I faint, Betty dear ? ' she asked.

' Yes, dear. Are you better now ? '

' Yes, I'm better ; it doesn't hurt now.'

Betty could not repress a question.

* Vic,' she said, ' what is it ? '

' I don't know,' said Victoria fearfully, then more
cheerfully,

' I'm tired I suppose. I shall be all right to-morrow.'

Then Betty refused to let her talk any more and
soon Victoria slept by her side the sleep of exhaustion.

The next morning Victoria insisted upon going to
the P. R. R. in spite of Betty suggesting a doctor.

' Can't risk losing my job,' she said laughing.
' Besides it doesn't hurt at all now. Look.'

Victoria lifted up her nightshirt. Her calves were
again perfectly white and smooth ; the thin network

iS6 A BED OF ROSES

of veins had sunk in again and showed blue under
the skin. Alone one vein on the left leg seemed dark
and angn'. Victoria felt so well, however, that she
agreed to meet Farwell at a quarter-past nine. This-
was their second expedition and the idea of it was a
stimulant. He went with her up to Finsbury Pavement
and stopped at a small Italian restaurant.

' Come in here and have come coffee,' he said, ' they
have waiters here ; that'll be a change.'

Victoria followed him in. They sat at a marble
topped table, flooded with light by incandescent gas.
In the glare the waiters seemed blacker, smaller and
more stunted than by the light of day. Their faces
were pallid, with a touch of green : their hair and
moustaches were almost blue black. Their energy
was that of automata. Victoria looked at them^
melting with pity.

' There's a life for you,' said Farwell interpreting
her look. ' Sixteen hours' work a day in an atmosphere
of stale food. For meals, plate scourings. For sleep
and time to get to it, eight hours. For living, the rest
of the day.'

' It's awful, awful,' said Victoria. ' Tlie}^ might as
well be dead.'

' They wiU be soon,' said Farwell, * but what does
that matter? There are plenty of waiters. In the
shadow of the olive groves to-night in far off Calabria,
at the base of the vine clad hills, couples are walking
hand in hand, with passion flashing in their eyes.
Brown peasant boys are clasping to their breast young
girls with dark hair, white teeth, red lips, hearts that
beat and quiver with ecstasy. They tell a tale of love
and hope. vSo we sliall not be short of waiters.'

' Why do you sneer at everj^thing, Mr Farwell ? '
said Victoria. ' Can't you see anything in life to
make it worth while ? '

' No, I cannot say I do. The pursuit of a living
debars me from the enjo^rments that make living

A BED OF ROSES 1S7

worth while. But never mind me : I am over without
having bloomed. I brought you here to talk of you,
not of me.'

'Of me, Mr Farwell? ' asked Victoria. 'What do
you want to know ? '

Farwell leant over the table, toyed with the sugar
and helped himself to a piece. Then without looking
at her :

' What's the matter with jou, Victoria ? ' he asked.

' Matter with me ? What do you mean ? ' said
Victoria, too disturbed to notice the use of her
Christian name.

The man scrutinised her carefully. ' You're ill,'
he said. ' Don't protest. You're thin ; there are
purple pockets under your eyes ; your underlip is
twisted with pain and you limp.'

Victoria felt a spasm of anger. There was still in
her the ghost of vanity. B^^t she looked at Farwell
before answering ; there was gentleness in his eyes.

' Well,' she said slowly, ' if 3'ou must know, perhaps
there is something wrong. Pains.'

' Where ? ' he asked.

' In the legs,' she said after a pause.

' Ah, SAvellings ? '

Victoria bridled a little. This man was laying
bare something, tearing at a secret.

' Are j^ou a doctor, Mr Farwell ? ' she asked coldly.

'That's all right,' he said roughly, 'it doesn't need
much learning to know what's the matter with a girl
who stands for eleven hours a day. Are the veins of
your legs swollen ? '

' Yes,' said Victoria with an effort. She was
frightened ; she forgot to resent this wrenching at the
privacy of her body.

' Ah ; when do they hurt ? '

' At night. They're all right in the morning.'

' You've got varicose veins, Victoria. You must
give up your job.'

i88 A BED OF ROSES

'I can't,' whispered the girl hoarsle}^ 'I've got
nothing else.'

' Exactly. Either you go on and are a cripple for
life or 3*ou stop and starve. Yours is a disease of
occupation, purely a natural consequence of your
work. Perfectly normal, perfectly. It is undesirable
to encourage laziness ; there are girls starving to-day
for lack of work, but it would never do to reduce your
liours to eight. It would interfere with the P. R. R.
dividends.'

Victoria looked at him without feeling.

' What am I to do ? ' she asked at length.

' Go to a hospital,' said Farwell. ' These institu-
tions are run by tlie Avealthy who pay two guineas
a year ransom for a thousand pounds of profits and
get in the bargain a fine sense of civic duty done.
No doubt the directors of the P.R.R. contribute most
generously.'

'I can't give up my job,' said Victoria dully.

' Perhaps they'll give you a stocking,' said Farwell,
' or sell it you, letting you pay in instalments so that
you be not pauperised. This is called training in
responsibility, also self-help.'

Victoria got up. She could bear it no longer.
Farwell saw her home and made her promise to apply
for leave to see the doctor. As the door closed
behind her he stood still for some minutes on the
doorstep, filling his pipe.

'Well, well,' he said at length, 'the Government
might think of that lethal chamber — but no, that
would never do, it woidd deplete tlie labour market
and hamper the commercial development of the
Empire.'

He walked away, a crackling little laugh floating
behind him. The faint light of a lamp fell on
his bowed head and shoulders, making him look like
a Titan born a dwarf.

Two days later Victoria went to the Carew. She

A BED OF ROSES 189

had never before set foot in a hospital. Such inter-
course as she had had with doctors was figured by
discreet interviews in dark studies fdled with un-
speakably ugly and reassuringly solid furniture.
Those doctors had patted her hand, said she needed
a little change or maj^ be a tonic. At the Carew,
fed as it is by the misery of two square miles of
North East London, the revelation of pain was
dazzling, apocalyptic. The sight of the benches
crowded with women and children, some pale as
corpses, others flushed with fever, some with faces
bandaged or disfigured by sores, almost made her
sick. They were packed in serried rows ; the
children ahnost all cried persistently except, here
and there, a baby, who looked with frightful fixity
at the glazed roof. From all this chattering crowd
of the condemned rose a stench of iodoform, perspira-
tion, unwashed bodies, the acrid smell of poverty.

The little red-haired Scotch doctor dismissed
Victoria's case in less than one minute.

' Varicose veins. Always wear a stocking. Here's
your form. Settle terms at the truss office. Don't
stand on your feet. Oh, what's your occupation ? '

' Waitress at the P.R.R., Sir.'

' Ah, hum. You must give it up.'

* I can't. Sir.'

' It's your risk. Come again in a month.'

Victoria pulled up her stockings. Walking in a
dream she went to the truss office where a man
measured her calves. She felt numb and indifferent
as to the exposure of her body. The man looked
encj^uiringly at the left calf.

' V.H. for the left,' he called over his shoulder to
the clerk.

At twelve o'clock she was in the P.R.R., revived
by the familiar atmosphere. She even rallied one of
the old chess players on a stroke of ill-luck. Towards
four o'clock her ankles began to twitch.

CHAPTER XXIV

Through all these anxious times, Betty watched over
A^ictoria with the devotion that is born of love.
There was in the girl a reserve of maternal sweetness
equalled only by the courage she showed every day.
Slim and delicate as she seemed, there was in Betty's
thin body a strength all nervous but endiuing. She
did not complain, though driven eleven or twelve
hours a day by the eyes of the manageress ; those
eyes were sharp as a goad, but she went cheerfullj'-.

In a sense Betty was happy. The work did not
weigh too heavily upon her ; there was so much
humility in her that she did not resent the roughness
•of her companions. Nelly could snub her, trample
at times on her like the cart horse she was ; the
manageress too could freeze her with a look, the
kitchen staff disregard her humble requests for teas
and procure for her the savage buUying of the
customers, yet she remained placid enough.

' It's a hard life,' she once said to Victoria, ' but
I suppose it's got to be.' This Avas her pliilosophy.

' But don't 3^ou want to get out of it ? ' cried
Victoria the militant.

' I don't know,' said Betty. * I might marry.'

' Marry,' sniffed Victoria, ' You seem to think
marriage is the only way out for women.'

'Well, isn't it?' asked Betty. 'What else is
there ? '

And for the life of her Victoria could not find
another occupation for an unskilled girl. Milliners,

A BED OF ROSES 191

dressmakers, clerks, typists, Avere all frightfully
iinderpaid and overworked ; true there were women
doctors, but who cared to employ them? And
teachers, but they earned the wages of virtue :
neglect. Besides it was too late ; both Victoria and
Betty were unskilled, condemned by their sex to low
pay and hard work,

'It's frightful, frightful,' cried Victoria. ' The only
use we are is to do the dirty work. Men don't char.
Of course we may marry, if we can, to any of those
gods if they'll share with us their thirty bob a week.
Talk of slaves ! They're better off than we.'

Betty looked upon all this as rather wild, as a
consequence of Victoria's illness. Her view was that
it didn't do to complain, and that the only thing to
do was to make the best of it. But she loved Victoria
and it was almost a voluptuous joy for her to help her
friend to undress every night, to tempt her with little
offerings of fruit and flowers. When they woke up,
Betty would draw her friend into her anns and cover
her face with gentle kisses.

But as Victoria grew worse, stiffer, and slower,
responding ever more reluctantly to the demands
made upon her all day at the P. R. R., Betty was
conscious of horrible anxiety. Sometimes her
imagination would conjure up a Victoria helpless,
wasted, bedridden, and her heart seemed to stop.
But her devotion was proof against egoism. What-
ever happened Victoria should not starve if she had to
pay the rent, and feed her herself on nine shillings or
so a week until she was well again and beautiful as
she had been. Her anxiety increasing, she mustered
up courage to interview Farwell whom she hated
jealously. He had ruined Victoria she thought,
made her wild, discontented, rebellious against the
incurable. Yet he knew her, and at any rate, she
must talk about it to somebody. So she mustered up
courage to ask him to meet her at nine.

192 A BED OF ROSES

'Well?' said Farwell. He did not like Betty
much. He included her among the poor creatures,
the rubble.

' Oh, Mr Farwell, what's going to happen to
Victoria? ' cried Betty, with tears in her voice. Then
she put her hand against the railings of Finsbury
Circus. She had prepared a dignified little speech,
and her suffering had burst fi'om her. The indignity
of it.

' Happen ? The usual thing in these cases. She'll
get worse ; the veins will burst and she'U be crippled
for life.'

Betty looked at him, her eyes blazing with rage.

' How dare you, how dare you ? ' she growled.

Farwell laughed.

' My dear young lady,' he said smoothly, ' it needs
no doctor to tell you what is wanted, Victoria must
stop work, lie up, be well fed, live in the country
perhaps and her spirits must be raised. To this
effect I would suggest a pretty house, flowers, books,
some music, say a hundred guinea grand piano, some
pretty pictures. So that she may improve in health
it is desirable that she should have servants. These
may gain varicose veins by waiting on her, but that
is by the way.'

Betty was weeping now. Tear after tear rolled
down her cheeks.

' But all this costs money,' continued Farwell, ' and,
as you are aware, bread is ver}'' dear and flesh and
blood very cheap. Humanity finds the extraction of
gold a toilsome process, whilst the production of
children is a normal recreation which eclipses even
the charms of alcohol. There, my child, you have the
problem and there is only one radical solution to it.'

Betty looked at him, intuitively guessing the
horr i ble su ggestion .

' The solution,' said Farwell, ' is to complain to the
doctor of insomnia, get him to prescribe laudanum

A BED OF ROSES 193

and sink your capital in the purchase of half a pint.
One's last investment is generally one's best.'

'Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it,' wailed Betty.
' She's so beautiful, so clever.'

' Ah, yes,' said Farwell in his dreamy manner, ' but
then you see when a woman doesn't marry. . . .'
He broke off, his eyes fixed on the grey pavement.
' The time will come, Betty, when the earth will be
not only our eternal bed, but the fairy land where
joyful flowers will grow. Ah ! it will be joyfid,
joyful, this crop of flowers born fi'om seas of blood.'

' But, now, now, what can we do with her ? '
cried Betty.

' I have no other suggestion if she will not fight,'
growled Farwell in his old manner. ' She must sink
or swim. If she sinks she's to blame, I suppose. In
a world of pirates and cut-thi'oats she will have elected
to be a saint and the martyr's crown will be hers. If
suicide is not to her taste, I would recommend her
to resort to what is called criminal practices. Being
ill, she has magnificent advantages ifishe wishes to start
business as a begging letter writer ; burglary is not
suitable for women, but there are sjjlendid opeuings
for confidence tricksters and shoplifting would be
a fine profession if it were not OA'ercrowded by the
upper middle classes.'

Betty dabbed her eyes vigorously. Her mouth
tightened. She looked despairingly at the desolate
half circle of London Wall Buildings and Salisbury
House. Then she gave Farwell her hand for a
moment and hurriedly walked away. As she entered
the attic the candle was stilL burning. Victoria was
in bed and had forgotten it ; she had already fallen
into stertorous sleep.

Next morning Victoria got up and dressed silently.
She did not seem any worse and with this Betty was
content, though she only got short answers to her
questions. All that day Victoria seemed well enough.

194 A BED OF ROSES

She walked springily ; at times she exchanged a quick
joke with a customer. She laughed even when a
yomig man, carried away for a moment beyond the
spirit of food which reigned supreme in the P.R.R.,
touched her hand and looked into her eyes.

As the afternoon wore Victoria felt creeping over
her the desperate weariness of the hour.

At a quarter to six she made up her checks. There
was a shortfall of one and a penny.

' How do you accoimt for it ? ' asked the manageress.

' Sure I don't know, Miss,' said Victoria helplesslj^
' I always give checks. Somebody must have slipped
out without paying.'

' Possibly.' The manageress grew more tense faced
than ever. Her bust expanded. ' I don't care. Of
com'se you know the rule. You pa}^ half and the
desk pays half.'

' I couldn't help it, Miss,' said Victoria miserably.
Sixpence halfpenny was a serious loss.

' No more could I. I think I can tell you how
it happened, though,' said the manageress with a
vague smile. 'I'm an old hand. A customer of
yours had a tuck out for one and a penny. You
gave him a check. Look at the foil and you'll
see.'

' Yes, Miss, here it is,' said Victoria anxiously.

'Very well. Then he went upstairs on the Q.T.
and had a cup of coffee. Follow ? '

' Yes, Miss.'

* One of the girls gave him a twopenny check.
Then he went out and handed in the twopenny
check. He kept the other one in his pocket.'

' Oh, Miss . . . it's stealing,' Victoria gasped.

' It is. But there it is, you see.'

' But it's not my fault. Miss ; if you had a pay box
at the top of the stairs, I don't say . . .'

'Oh, we can't do that,' said the manageress icily,
' they would cost a lot to build and extra staff and

A BED OF ROSES 19S

we must keep clown expenses, you know. Competition
is very keen in this trade.'

Victoria felt stunned. The incident was as full of
revelations as Lizzie's practices at the desk. The
girls cheated the customers, the customers the girls.
And the P.R.R., sitting olympian on its pillar of
cloud, exacted from all its dividends. The P.R.R.
suddenly loomed up before Victoria's eyes as a big
swollen monster in whose veins ran China tea. And
from its nostrils poured forth torrents of coffee-
scented steam. It grew and grew, and fed men and
women, every now and then extending a talon and
seizing a few young girls with sore legs, a rival cafe
or two. Then it vanished. Victoria was looking at
one of the large plated urns.

' All right,' she said sullenly, ' I'll pay.'

As it was her day off, at six o'clock Victoria went
up to the change room, saying good-night to Betty,
telling her she was going out to get some fi'esh air.
She thought it would do her good, so rode on a bus
to the Green Park. Round her, in Piccadilly, a tide
of rich life seemed to rise redolent with scent, soft
tobacco, moist furs, all those odours that herald and
follow wealth. A savagery was upon her as she
passed along the club windows, now full of young
men telling tales that made their teeth sliine in the
night, of old men red, pink, browm, healthy in colour
and in security, reading, sleeping, eking out life.

The picture was familiar, for it was the picture she
had so often seen when, as a girl, she came up to
town from Lympton for a week to shop in Oxford
Street and see, from the upper boxes, the three or fom-
plays recommended by Hearth and Home. Piccadilly
had been her Mecca. It had represented mysterious
delights, restaurants, little teashops, jewellers, makers
of cunning cases for everything. She had never been
well-off enough to shop there but had gazed into its
windows and bought the nearest imitations in Oxford

196 A BED OF ROSES

Street. Then the clubs had been, if not familiar, at
any rate friendly. She had once with her mother called
at the In and Out to ask for a general. He was dead
now, and so was Piccadilly.

Victoria remembered without joy, a sign of total
flatness, for the mind that does not glow at the thought
of the glamorous past is dulled indeed. Piccadilly
struck her now rather as a show and a poor one, a
show of the inetlicients basking, of the wretched
shuffling by. And the savagerj^ that was upon her
waxed fat. Without ideals of ultimate brotherhood
or love she could not help thinking, half amused, of
the dismay that would come over London if a bomb
were suddenly to raze to the ground one of these
sluines of men.

The bus stopped in a block just opposite one of the
clubs and Victoria, from the off-side seat, could see
across the road into one of the rooms. There were in
it a dozen men of all ages, most of them standing in
small groups, some already in evening-dress ; some
lolled on enormous padded chairs reading and, against
the mantlei^iece where a fire burned briglitl}^ a youth
was telling an obviously successful story to a group
of oldsters. Their ease, their conviviality and facile
friendship stung Victoria ; she felt an outcast. What
had she now to do with these men ? They would not
know her. Their sphere was their father's sphere, by
right of birth and wealth, not hers who had not the
right of wealth. Besides, perhaps some were share-
holders in the P.R.R. Painfully shambling down the
steps, Victoria got off the bus and entered the Green
Park. She sat down on a seat under a tree just
bursting into bud.

For many minutes she looked at the young grass,
at the windows where lights were appearing, at a man
seated near by and puffing rich blue smoke from his
cigar. A loafer lay face down on the grass, like a
bundle. Her moods altered between rage, as she

A BED OF ROSES 197

looked at tlie two men, and misery as she realised that
her lot was cast with the wretch grovelling on the
cold earth.

She noticed that the man watli the cigar was watch-
ing her but hardly looked at him. He was fat, that
was all she knew^ Her eyes once more fastened on
the loafer. He had not fonght the world ; w^ould
she? and how? Now and then he turned a little in
his sleep, dreaming perhaps of feasts in Cockayne,
perhaps of the skilly he had tasted in gaol, of love
perhaps, bright-eyed, master of the gates. It was
cold, for the snap of winter w^as in the spring air ; in
tlie pale western sky the roofs loomed black. Abeady
the dull glow of London light rose like a halo over
the town. Victoria did not seem to feel the wind ;
she was a little numb, her legs felt heavy as lead. A
gust of wind carried into her face a few drops of rain.

The man with the cigar got up, slowly passed her ;
there was something familiar in his w^alk. He turned
so as to see her face in the light of a gas-lamp. Then
he took three quick steps tow^ards her. Her heart
Avas akeady tlii-obbing ; she felt and yet did not kno\v.

' Victoria,' said the man in a faint, far away voice.

Victoria gasped, put her hand on her heart, swaying
on the seat. The man sat down by her side and took
her hand.

' Victoria,' he said again. There was in his voice
a rich quality.

'Uh, Major Cairns, Major Cairns,' she burst out.
And clasping his hand between hers, she laid her face
upon it. He felt all her body throb ; there were tears
on his hands. A man of the w^orld, he very gently
lifted up her chin and raised her to a sitting posture.

'There,' he said softly, still retaining her hands,
'don't cry, dear, all is well. Don't speak. I have
found you.'

With all the gentleness of a heavy man he softly
stroked her hands.

CHAPTER XXY

Two daj'S later Victoria was floating in the curious
ether of the unusual. It was Sunday night. She
was before a little table at one of those concealed
restaurants in Solio where blows fragrant the wind of
France. She was sitting in a softly cushioned arm
chair, grateful to arms and back, her feet propped up
on a footstool. Before her lay the little table, with
its rough cloth, imperfectly clean and shining dully
with brittania ware. There were flowers in a small
mug of Bruges potterj^ ; there was little light save
from candles discreetly' veiled by pink shades. The
bill of fare, rigid on its metal stem, bore the two
shilling table d'hote and the more pretentious a la
carte. An immense feeling of restfulness, so complete
as to be positive, was upon her. She felt luxurious
and at large, at one with the other couples who sat
near bj^, smiling, with possessive hands.

On the other side of the table sat Major Cairns.
He had not altered very much except that he was
stouter. His grey eyes still shone kindly from his
rather gross face. Victoria could not make up her
mind whether she liked him or not. When she met
him in the park he had seemed beautiful as an arch-
angel ; he had been gentle too as big men mostly are
to women, but now she could feel him examining her
critically, noting her points, speculating on the change
in her, wondering whether her ravaged beauty was
greater and her neck softer than when he last held
her in his arms off the coast of Araby.

A BED OF ROSES 199

Victoria had compacted for a quiet place. She
could not, she felt, face the Pall Mall or Jermyn
Street restaurants, their lights, wealth of silver and
glass, their soft carpets, and silent waiters. The
Major had agreed, for he knew women well and was
not over-anxious to expose to the eyes of the tovra
Victoria's paltry clothes. Now he had her before him
he began to regret that he had not risked it. For
Victoria had gained as much as she had lost in looks.
Her figure had shrunk, but her neck was still beauti-
fully moulded, broad as a pillar ; her colour had gone
down almost to dead wliite ; the superfluous flesh had
wasted away and had left bare the splendid line of
the strong chin and jaw. Her eyes, however, were
the magnet that held Cairns fast. They were as grey
as ever but dilated and thrown into contrast with the
pale skin by the purple zone which surrounded them.
They stared before them with a novel boldness, a
strange lucidity.

' Victoria,' whispered Caims leaning forward, ' you
are very beautiful.'

Victoria laughed and a faint flush rose into her
cheeks. There was still something grateful in the
admiration of this man, gross and limited as he might
be, centred round his pleasures, sceptical of good and
evil alike. Without a word she took up a spoon and
began to eat her ice. Caims watched every move-
ment of her hand and wrist.

' Don't,' said Victoria after a pause. She dropped
her spoon and put her hands under the table.

* Don't what ? ' said Cairns.

' Look at my hands. They're . . . Oh, they're not
what they were. It makes me feel ashamed.'

' Nonsense,' said Cairns with a laugh. ' Your
hands are still as fine as ever and, when we've had
them maniciu'ed. . . .'

He stopped abruptly as if he had said too much.

* Manicured ? ' said Victoria warily, though the ' we '

200 A BED OF ROSES

liad given her a little shock. ' Oh, they're not worth
manicuring now for the sort of work I've got to do.'

' Look here, Victoria,' said Cairns rather roughly.
'This can't go on. You're not made to be one of the
drabs. You say your work is telling on you : well
you must give it up.'

' Oh, I can't do that,' said Victoria, * I've got to
earn my living and I'm no good for anything else.'

Cairns looked at her for a moment and meditatively
sipped his port.

'Drink the port,' he commanded, 'it'll do you
good.'

Victoria obeyed willingly enough. There was
already in her blood the glow of Burgundy, but the
port, mellow, exquisite, and curling round the tongue,
coloured like burnt almonds, fragrant too, concealed
a deeper joy. The smoke from Cairns' cigar, half
hiding his face, floating in wreaths between them,
entered her nostrils, aromatic, narcotic.

' What are you thinking of doing now? ' she asked.

'I don't know quite,' said Cairns. 'You see I
broke my good resolution. After my job at Perim,
they offered me some surveying work near Omiuz ;
they call it surveying, but it's spying really or it
would be if there were anything to spy. I took it and
rather enjoj-ed it.'

' Did you have any adventures ? ' asked Victoria.

'Nothing to speak of except expeditions into the
hinterland trying to get fresh meat. The East is
overrated, I assure you. A butr landed off our
station once, probably intending to turn us into able-
bodied slaves. There were only seven of us to their
thirty but we kiUed ten Mdth two volleys and they
made off, parting with their anchor in their hurry.'

Cairns looked at Victoria. The flush had not died
fiom her cheeks. She was good to look upon.

' No,' he went on more slowly, ' I don't c[uite know
what I shaU do. I meant to retire anyhow, you

A BED OF ROSES 201

know, and tlie sudden death of my uncle, old
Marmaduke Cairns, settled it. I never expected to
get a look in, but there was hardly anybody else to
leave anything to, except his sisters whom lie hated
like poison, so I'm the heir. I don't yet know what
I'm worth quite, but the old man always seemed to do
liimself prett}^ well.'

'I'm glad,' said Victoria. She was not. The
monstrous stupidity of a system which suddenly
places a man in a position enabling him to live on
the labour of a thousand was obvious to her.

'I'm rather at a loose end,' said Cairns musing,
' you see I've had enough knocking about. But it's
rather dull here, you know. I'm not a marrying man
either.'

Victoria was disturbed. She looked at Cairns and
met his eyes. There was fomiing in them a ciuestion.
As she looked at him the expression faded and he
signed to the waiter to bring the coffee.

As they sipped it they spoke little but inspected
one another narrowly. Victoria told herself that if
Cairns offered her marriage she would accept him.
vShe was not sure that ideal happiness would be hers
if she did ; his limitations were more apparent to
her than they had been when she first knew him.
Yet the alternative was the P.R.R. and all that must
foUow.

Cairns was turning over in his mind the question
Victoiia had surprised. Though he was by no means
cautious or shy, being a bold and good liver, he felt
that Victoria's present position made it difficult to be
sentimental. So they talked of indifferent things.
But when they left the restaurant and drove towards
Finsbury Victoria came closer to him and, uncon-
sciously almost. Cairns took her hand, which she did
not withdraw. He leant towards her. His hand
grew more insistent on her arm. She was passive
though her heart beat and fear was upon her.

202 A BED OF ROSES

'Victoria,' said Cairns, his voice strained and
metallic.

She turned her face toirards him. There was in
it complete acquiescence. He passed one arm round
her waist and drew her towards him. She could feel
his chest crush her as he bent her back. His lips
fastened on her neck greedily.

' Victoria,' said Cairns again, ' I want you. Come
away from all tliis labour and pain ; let me make
you happy.'

She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

'As fi-ee man and woman,' he stammered. Then
more firmly :

' I'll make you happy. You'll want nothing.
Perhaps j^ou'll even learn to like me.'

Victoria said nothing for a minute. The proposal
did not offend her ; she was too broken, too stupefied
for her inherent prejudices to assert themselves.
Morals, belief, reputation, what figments all these
things. What was this fi^eedom of hers that she
should set so high a price on it? And here was
comfort, wealth, peace, oh, peace. Yet she hesitated
to plunge into the cold stream ; she stood shivering
on the edge.

' Let me think,' she said.

Cairns pressed her closer to him. A little of the
flame that warmed his body passed into hers.

' Don't hurry me. Please. I don't know what to
say. . . .'

He bent over her with hungry lips.

' Yes, j^ou may kiss me.'

Submissive, if frightened and repelled, yet with a
heart where hope fluttered, she surrendered him
her lips.

CHAPTER XXVI

'I don't approve and I don't disapprove,' snarled
Farwell. 'I'm not my sister's keeper. I don't
pretend to think it noble of you to live with a man
you don't care for, but I don't say you're wrong ta
do it.'

' But really,' said Aactoria, ' if you don't think
it right to do a thing, you must think it wrong.'

'Not at all. I am neutral, or rather my reason
supports what my principles reject. Thus my
principles may seem unreasonable and my reasoning
devoid of principle but I cannot helx3 that.'

Victoria thought for a moment. She was about
to take a great step and she longed for approval.

' Mr Farwell,' she said deliberately, ' I've come to
the conclusion that you are right. We are crabs in
a bucket and those at the bottom are no nobler than
those on the top, for they would gladly be on the-
top. I'm going on the top.'

' Sophist,' said Farwell, smiling.

' I don't know what that means.' Victoria went on ;
' I suppose you think that I'm trying to cheat myself
as to what is right. Possibly, but I don't profess to
know what is right.'

'Oh, no more do I,' interrupted Far^^ell, 'please
don't set me up as a judge. I haven't got any ethical
standards for you. I don't believe there are any ;.
the ethics of the Renaissance are not those of the
twentieth century, nor are those of London the same
as those of Constantinople. Time and space work

204 A BED OF ROSES

moral revolutions and, even on stereotyped lines,
nobody can say present ethics are the best. From a
conventional point of viev7 the hundred and fifty
years that separate us from Fielding mark an
improvement, but I have still to learn that the morals
of to-day compare favourably with those of Sparta.
You must decide that for yourself.'

'I am doing so,' said Victoria quietly, 'but I don't
think you quite understand a woman's position and I
want you to. I find a world where the harder a
woman works, the worse she is paid, where her mind
is despised and her body courted. Oh, I know, you
haven't done that, but you don't employ women.
Nobody but you has ever cared a scrap about such
brains as I may have ; the subs courted me in my
husband's regiment . . .' She stopped abruptly,
having spoken too fi'eely.

' Go on,' said Farwell tactfully.

* And in London what have I found ? Nothing but
men bent on one pursuit. They have followed me in
the streets and tubes, tried to sit by me in the parks.
They have tried to touch me, yes me, the dependent
who could not resent it, when I served them with
their food. Their talk is the inane, under which they
cloak desire. Their words are covert appeals. I hear
round me the everlasting ciy : yield, yield, for that
is all we want from young women.'

' True,' said Farwell, ' I have never denied this.'

* And yet,' answered Victoria angrily, ' you almost
blame me. 1 tell you that I have never seen the
world as I do now. Men have no use for us save as
mistresses, whether legal or not. Perhaps they will
have us as breeders or housekeepers, but the mistress
is the root of it all. And if they can gain us without
pledges, without risks, by promises, by force or by
deceit, they will.'

Farwell said nothing. His eyes were full of sorrow.
'My husband drank himself to death,' pursued

A BED OF ROSES 205

Victoria in low tones, ' The proprietor of the Rose-
bud tried to force me to become his toy . . . perhaps
he would have thrown me on the streets if he had had
time to pursue me longer and if I refused myself still
. . . because he was my employer and all is fair in
what they call love . . . The customers bought every
day for twopence the right to stare through mj^ open-
work blouse, to touch my hand, to brush my knees
with theirs. One, who seemed above them, tried to
break my body into obedience by force . . . Here,
at the P.R.R. I am a toy still though more of a servant
. . . Soon I shall be a cripple and e;ood neither for
servant nor mistress, what will you do with me ? '

Farwell made a despairing gesture with his hand.

' I tell you,' said Victoria with ferocious intensity.
'You're right, life's a fight and I'm going to win,
for my ejes are clear. I have done with sentiment
and sympathy. A man may command respect as a
wage earner ; a woman commands nothing but what
she can cheat out of men's senses. She must be rich,
she must be economically independent. Then men
will crawl where they hectored, worship that which
they burned. And if I must be dependent to become
independent, that is a stage I am ready for.'

' What are you going to do ? ' asked Farwell.

' I'm going to live with this man,' said Victoria in
a frozen voice. ' I neither love nor hate him. I am
going to exploit liim, to extort fi'om him as much
of the joy of life as I can, but above all I am going
to draw from him, from others too if I can, as much
wealth as I can. I will store it, hive it bee-like, and
when my treasure is great enough I will consume it.
And the world will stand by and shout : hallelujah,
a rich woman cometh into her kingdom.'

Farwell remained silent for a minute.

' You are right,' he said, ' if you must choose, then
be strong and carve your way into freedom. I have
not done this and the world has sucked me dry.

2o6 A BED OF ROSES

You can still be free, so do not slirink from the means.
You are a woman, your body is youi fortune, jour
only fortune, so transmute it into gold. You will
succeed, you will be rich and the swine, instead of
trampling on you will herd round the trough where
you scatter pearls.'

He stopped for a moment, slowly puffing at his
pipe.

' Woman's profession,' he muttered. ' The time
will come . . . but to-day. . . .'

Victoria looked at him, a faint figure in the night.
He was the spectral prophet, a David in fear of
Goliath.

'Yes,' she said, 'woman's profession.'

Together they walked away. Farwell was almost
sohloquising. 'If she is brave, life is easier for a
woman than a man. She can play on him, but her
head must be cool, her heart silent. Hear this,
Victoria. Remember j^ours is a trade and needs
your application. To win this fight you must be well
equipped. Let joui touch be soft as velvet, j^our
grip as hard as steel. Shrink fi'om nothing, rise to
treachery, let the worldly nadir be youi- zenith.'

He stopped before a public house and opened the
door of the bar a little.

' Look in there,' he said.

Victoria looked. There were five men, half hidden
in smoke ; among them sat one woman clad in vivid
colours, her face painted, her hands dirty and covered
with rings. Her yellow hair made a vivid patch
against the brown wall. A yard away, alone at a
small table, sat another woman, covered too with
cheap finery, with weary eyes and a smiling mouth,
her figure abandoned on a sofa, lost to the scene, her
look fixed on the side door through which men slink in.

' Remember,' said Farwell, ' give no quarter in the
struggle, for you will get none.'

Victoria shuddered. But the fury was upon her.

A BED OF ROSES 207

' Don't be afraid,' she liissed, ' I'll spare nobody.
They've already given me a taste of the whip. I
know, I understand ; those girls don't. I see the
goal before me and therefore I will reach it.'

Farwell looked at her again, his eyes full of
melancholy.

'Go then, Victoria,' he said, 'and work out your
fate.'

PART II

CHAPTER I

Victoria turned uneasily on the sofa and stretched
her arms. vShe yawned, then sat up abruptly.
Suderinan's Katzensteg fell to the ground off her lap.
She was in a tiny hack room, so overcrowded by the
sofa and easy-chair that she could almost touch a
small rosewood bureau opposite. She looked round
the room lazily, then relapsed on the sofa, hugging
a cushion. She snuggled her face into it, voluptuously
breathing in its compactness laden with scent and
tobacco smoke. Then, looking up, she reflected that
she was very comfortable.

Victoria's boudoir was the back extension of the
dining-room. Shut off by the folding doors it con-
tained within its tiny space the comfort which is only
found in small rooms. It was papered red with a
flowered pattern which she thought ugly, but which
had just been imported fi-om France and was quite
the thing. The sofa and easy-chair were covered
with obtrusively new red and white chintz ; a little
pile of cushions had fallen on the indeterminate
Persian pattern of the carpet. Long coffee coloured
curtains, banded with chintz, shut out part of the
high window, through which a little of the garden
and the bare branches of a tree could be seen.
Victoria took all this in for the hundredth time. She
had been sleeijing for an hour ; she felt smooth,
stroked ; she could have hugged all these pretty
things, the little brass fender, the books, the Delft
inkpot on the Httle bureau. Everything in the room

208

A BED OF ROSES 209

was already intimate. Her eyes dwelled on the clean
chintzes, on the half blinds surmounted by insertion,
the brass ashtrays, the massive silver cigarette box.

Victoria stood up, the movement changing the
direction of her contemplative mood. The Gothic
rosewood clock told her it was a little after tliree.
She went to the cigarette box and lit a cigarette.
While slowly inhaling the smoke, she rang the bell.
On her right forefinger there was a faint yellow tinge
of nicotine which had reached the nail.

'I shall have to be manicured again,' she solilo-
quised. ' What a nuisance. Better have it done
to-day while I get my hair done too.'

'Yes, mum ' A neat dark maid stood at the door,
A'^ictoria did not answer for a second. The girl's,
black dress was perfectly brushed, her cap, collar,
cuffs, apron, immacidate white.

' I'm going out now, Mary,' said Victoria. ' You'd
better get my bro"\vn velvet out.'

' Yes, mimi,' said the maid. ' Will you be back for
dinner, mum ? '

'No, I'm dining with the Major. Oh, don't get
the velvet out. It's muddy out, isn't it ? '

' Yes, mum. It's been raining in the morning,
mum.'

' Ah, well, perhaps I'd better wear the grey coat
and skirt. And my furs and toque.'

' The beaver, mum ? '

' No, of course not, the white fox. And, oh, Mary,
I've lost my little bag somewhere. And tell Charlotte
to send me up a cup of tea at half-past three.'

Mary left the room silently. She seldom asked
questions and never exi^ressed pleasure, displeasure
or surprise.

Victoria walked up to her bedroom ; the staircase

was papered with a pretty blue and white pattern over

a dado of white lincrusta. A few French engravings

stood out in their old gold frames. A^ictoria stopped

0

2IO A BED OF ROSES

at the first lauding to look at her favourite, after
Lancret ; it represented lovers surprised in a barn by
an irate husband.

The bedroom occupied the entire first floor. On
taking possession of the little house she had realised
that, as she would have no callers, a drawing-room
would be absurd, so had suppressed the folding doors
and made the two rooms into one large one. In the
front, between the two windows, stood her dressing-
table, now covered with small bottles, some in cut
glass and full of scent, others more workmanlike,
marked vaseline, glycerine, skin food, bay rum.
Scattered about them on the lace toilet cover, were
boxes of powder, white, sepia, bluish, puffs, little
sticks of cosmetics, some silver backe 1 brushes, some
squat and short bristled, others with long handles,
with long soft bristles, one studded with short wires,
another with whalebone, some clothes brushes too,
buttonhooks, silver trays, a handglass with a massive
silver handle. Right and left, two little electric lamps
and above the swinging mirror, a shaded bulb slied-
ing a candid glow.

One wall was blotted out by two inlaid mahogany
wardrobes ; through the open doors of one could be
seen a pile of frilled linen, lace petticoats, chemises
threaded with coloured ribbons. On the large arm-
chair, covered with blue and white chintz, was a
crumpled heap of white linen, a pair of fa/e au lait
silk stockings. A light mahogany chair or two stood
about the room. Each had a blue and white cushion,
a large wash-stand stood near the mantlepiece, laden
with blue and white ware. The walls were covered
with blue silky paper, dotted here and there with
some colour prints. These were mostly English ;
their nude beauties sprawled and languished slyly
among bushes, listening to the pipes of Pan.

Victoria went into the back of the room and, un-
hooking her cream silk dressing jacket, threw it on

A BED OF ROSES 211

the bed. This was a vast low edifice of glittering
brown wood, covered now by a blue and white silk
bedspread with edges smothered in lace ; from the
head of the bed peeped out the tip of two lace pillows.
By the side of the bed, on the little night table, stood
two or thiee books, a reading lamp and a small silver
basket full of sweets. An ivoTj bell-pull hung by the
side of a swinging switch just between the pillows.

Victoria walked past the bed and looked at herself
in the high looking-glass set into the wall which rose
from the floor to well above her head. The mirror
threw back a pleasing reflection. It showed her a
woman of twenty-six, neither short nor tall, dressed
in a white petticoat and mauve silk corsets. The
corsets fitted well into the figure which, was round and
inclined to be full. Her arms and neck, framed with
white frillings, were imiformly cream coloured,
shadowed a little darker at the elbows, near the
rounded shoulders and imder the jaw ; all her skin
had a glow, half vigorous, half delicate. But the
woman's face interested Victoria more. Her hair was
piled high and black over a broad low white forehead ;
the cream of the skin turned faintly into colour at the
cheeks, into crimson at the lips ; her ej^es were large,
steel grey, long lashed and thrown into relief by a
faintly mauve aura. There was strength in the jaw,
square, hard, fine cut ; there was strength too in the
steadiness of the eyes, in the slightly compressed red
lips.

'Yes,' said Victoria to the picture, 'you mean
business.' She reflected that she was fatter than she
had ever been. Two months of rest had worked a
revolution in her. The sudden change from toil to
idleness had caused a reaction. There was something
almost matronly about the soft curves of her breast.
But the change was to the good. She was less
interesting than the day when the Major sat face
to face with her in Soho, his pulse beating quicker

212 A BED OF ROSES

and quicker as her ravaged beauty stimulated him
by its novelty, but she was a finer animal. Indeed
she realised to the full that she had never been so
beautiful, that she had never been beautiful before,
as men understand beauty.

The past two months had been busy as well as idle,
busy that is as an idle woman's time. She had felt
weary now and then, like those unfortunates who are
bound to the wheel of pleasure and are compelled to
' do too much.' Major Cairns had launched out into
his first experiment in pseudo-married life with an
almost boyish zest. It was he who had jDractically
compelled her to take the little house in Elm Tree
Place.

' Think of it, Vic,' he had said, ' 3'our o^vn little
den. With no prjdng neighbours. And your own
littLi garden. And dogs.'

He had waxed quite sentimental over it and
Victoria, full of the gratitude that makes a woman
cling to the fireman when he has rescued her, had
helped him to build a home for the idyll. Within a
feverish month he had produced the house as it stood.
He had hardly allowed Victoria any choice in the
matter, for he would not let her do anything. He
practically compelled her to keep to her suite at the
hotel, so that she might get well. He struggled alone
wii h the decorations, plumbing, f urn; ture and linoleum,
linen and garden. Now and then he would ring up
to know whether she preferred salmon pink to f raise
eerasee cushions, or he would come up to the hotel
rent in twain by conflicting rugs. At last he had
pronounced the Jiouse ready and, after supplying it
with Mary and Charlotte, had triumphantly installed
his new queen in her palace.

Victoria's first revelation was one of immense joy,
unquestioning and, for one moment, quite dis-
interested. It was not until a few hours had elapsed
that she regained mastery over herself. She went

A BED OF ROSES 213

from room to room puncliing cushions, pressing her
liands over the polished wood, at times feeling
voluptuously on liands and knees the pile of the
carpets. She almost loved Cairns at the moment.
It was quite honestly that she drew him down by
her side on the red and white sofa and softh^ kissed
liis cheek and drove his ragged moustache into re-
bellion. It was quite willingly too that she felt his
grasp tighten on her and that she yielded to him.
Her lips did not abhor his kisses.

Some hours later she became herself again. Cairns
was good to her, but good as the grazier is to the
heifer fi'om whom he hopes to breed ; she was his
creature and must be well housed, well fed, well
clothed, so that his eyes might feast on her, scented
so that his desire for her might be whipped into
action. In her moments of cold horror in the past
she had realised herself as a commodity, as a beast
of burden ; now she realised herself as a beast of
pleasure. The only thing to remember then was to
coin into gold her condescension.

Victoria looked at herself again in the glass. Yes,
it was condescension. As a free woman, that is a
woman of means, she would never have surrendered
to Cairns the tips of her fingers. OfE the coast of
Araby she had yielded to him a little, so badly did
she need human sympathy, a little wamith in the
cold of the lonely night. When he appeared again as
the rescuer she had flung herself into his arms with an
appalling fetterless joy. She had plunged her life
into his as into Nirvana.

Now her head was cooler. Indeed it had been
cool for a month. She saw Cairns as an average
man, neither good nor evil, a son of his father and
the seed thereof, bomid by a strict code of honour
and a lax code of morals. She saw him as a dull
man with the superficial polish that even the roughest
pebble acquires in the stream of life. He had found

214 A BED OF ROSES

her at low water mark, stranded and gasping on the
sands ; he had picked her up and imprisoned her
in this vivarimn to which he alone had access, where
he conld enjoy his capture to the full.

' And the capture's business is to get as much out
of the captor as possible, so as to buy its freedom
back.' This was Victoria's new philosoph}^. She
had dexteroush^ induced Cairns to give her a thousand
a year. She knew perfectly well that she could live
on seven hundred, perhaps on six. Besides, she
played on his pride. Cairns was after all only a
big middle-aged boy ; it made him swell to accom-
pany Victoria to Slcane Street to buy a hat, to the
Leicester Gallery to see the latest one man show.
She was a credit to a fellow. Thus she found no
difficult}^ in making him buy her sables, gold purses.
Whistler etchings. They would come in handy, she
reflected, 'when the big bust-up came.' For Victoria
was not rocking herself in the transitory but, from
the verj'- first, making ready for the storm which
follows on the longest stretch of fair weather.

' Yes,' said Victoria again to the mirror, ' you mean
business.' The door opened and almost noiselessly
closed. Llaiy brought in a tray covered with a clean
set of silver backed brushes and piled up the other
ready to take away. She put a water can on the
washstand and parsimoniously measured into it some
attar of roses. Victoria stepped out into the middle
of the room and stood there braced and stiff as the
maid unlaced and then tightened her staj^s.

* What will you wear this evening, mum ? ' asked
Marj^ as Victoria sat down in the low dressing chair
opposite the swinging glass.

'This evening?' mused Victoria. 'Let me see,
there's the gris pede.'

'No, mum, I've sent it to the cleaner's,' said Mar}^
Her fingers were deftly removing the sham curls from
Victoria's back hair.

A BED OF ROSES 215

* You've worn it four times, mum,' she added
reproaclifully.

'Oh, have I? I don't think. ... oh, that's all
right, Mary.'

Victoria reflected that she would never have a
Avell-trained maid if she finished sentences such as
this. Four times ! Well, she must give the Major
his money's worth.

'You might wear your -red Directoire, mum,'
suggested j\faiy in the unemotional tones of one who
is paid not to hear slips.

' I might. Yes. Perhaps it's a little loud for the
Carlton.'

' Yes, mum,' said Mary without committing herself.

' After all, I don't think it is so loud.'

' No, mum,' said Mary in even tones. She deftly
rolled her mistress' plaits round the crown.

Victoria felt vaguely annoyed. The woman's
words were anonymous.

' But what do you think, Mary ? ' she asked.

' Oh, I think you're quite right, mum,' said Mary.

Victoria watched her face in the glass. Not a wave
of opinion rippled over it.

Victoria got up. She stretched out her arms for
Mary to slip the skirt over her head. The maid
closed the lace blouse, quickly clipped the fasteners
together, then closed the placket hole completely.
Without a word she fetched the light grey coat,
slipped it on Victoria's shoulders. She found the
grey skin bag, while Victoria put on her white fox
toque. She then encased Victoria's head in a grey
silk veil and sprayed her with scent. Victoria looked
at herself in the glass. She was verj-^ lovely, she
thought.

* Anything else, mum ? ' said Mary's quiet voice.

* No, Mar\^, nothing else.'
' Thank you, mum.'

As Victoria turned, she found the maid had dis-

2i6 A BED OF ROSES

appeared, but lier watcliful presence was by the front
door to open it for her. Victoria saw her from the
stairs, a short erect figure, with a pale face fr-amed in
dark hair. She stood with one hand on the latch,
the other holding a cab whistle ; her eyes were fixed
upon the ground. As Victoria passed out she looked
at Mary. The girl's eyes were averted still, her face
without a question. Upon her left hand she wore a
thin gold ring with a single red stone. The ring
fastened on Victoria's imagination as she stepped into
a hansom which was loafing near the door. It was
not the custom, she knew, for a maid to Avear a ring
and this alone was enough to amaze her. Was it
possible that Mary's amiour was not perfect in every
point of servility ? No doubt she had just put it on
as it was her evening out and she would be leaving
the house in another half hour. And then ? Would
another and a stronger hand take hers, hold it, twine
its fingers among her fingers. Victoria wondered,
for the vision of love and Mary were incongruous
ideas. It was almost inconceivable that with her cap
and apron she doffed the mantle of her reserve ; she
surely could not vibrate ; her heart could not beat
in imison with another. Yet, there was the ring, the
promise of passion. Victoria nursed for a moment
the vision of tlie two spectral figures, walking in a
dusky park, ai-ms round waists, then of shapes blended
on a seat, faces hidden, lip to lip.

Victoria thi-ew herself back in the cab. What did
it all matter after all ? Mary was the beast of burden
which she had captured by piracy. She had been her
equal once when abiding by the law ; she had shared
her toil and her slender meed of thanks. Now she
was a buccaneer, outside the social code, and as such
earned the right to command. So much did Victoria
dominate that she thought she would refrain from the
exercise of a bourgeois prerogative : the girl should
wear her ring, even though custom forbade it, load

A BED OF ROSES 217

herself with trinkets if she chose, for as a worker and
a respecter of social laws stu'ely she might well be
treated as the sacrificial ox.

The horse trotted down Baker Street, then through
Wigmore Street. Daylight was already waning ; here
and there houses were breaking into light between
the shops, some of which had remembered it was
Christmas eve and decked themselves out in holly,
At the corner near the Bechstein Hall the cab came
to a stop behind the long line of carriages waiting
for the end of a concert. Victoria had time to see
the old crossing sweeper, with a smile on his face and
mistletoe in his battered billy-cock. The festivities
wordd no doubt yield him his annual kind word from
the world. She passed the carriages, all empty still.
The cushions were rich, she could see. Here and
there she could see a fur coat or a book on the seat ;
in one of them sat an elderly maid, watching the
carriage clock under the electric light, meanwhile
nursing a chocolate pom who growled as Victoria passed.

* Slaves all of them,' thought Victoria. ' A slave
the good elderly maid, thankful for the crumbs that
fall from the pom's table. Slaves too, the fat coach-
man, the slim footmen despite their handsome English
faces, lit up by a gas lamj^. The raw material of
fashion.'

The cab turned into the greater blaze of Oxford
Circus, past the Princes Street P. R. R. There was
a great show of Christmas cakes there. From the
cab Victoria, craning out, could see a young and
pretty girl behind the counter busily packing frosted
biscuits. Victoria felt wanned by the sight ; she was
not malicious, but the contrast told her of her emanci-
pation from the thrall of eight bob a week. Through
Regent Street, all congested with traffic, little figures
laden with parcels darting like fi'ightened ants under
the horse's nose, then into the inmiensity of Whitehall,
the cab stopped at the Stores in Victoria Street.

2i8 A BED OF ROSES

Victoria had but recentl}^ joined. A store ticket
and a telephone are the next best thing to respectability
and the same thing as regards comfort. They go far
to establish one's social position. Victoria struggled
through the Avedged crowd. Here and there boys and
girls with Hushed faces, who enjoyed being squashed.
She could see crowds of jolly women picking from the
counters things useful and things pretty ; upon signal
discoveries loudly proclaimed followed continual
exclamations that the}'- would not do. Family parties,
excited and talkative, left her unmoved. That world,
that of the rich and the free, would ultimately be
hers ; her past, that of the worn men and women
ministering behind the counter to the w^hims of her
future world was dead.

She only had to buy a few Christmas presents.
There was one for Betty, one for Cairns, and two for
the servants. In the clothing department she selected
a pretty blue merino dressing-gown and a long
purple sweater for Betty. The measurements were
much the same as hers, if a little slighter ; besides
such garments need not fit. She went downstairs
and disposed of the I\Iajor by means of a small gold
cigarette case with a leather cover. No doubt he had
a dozen, but what could she give a man ?

The Stores buzzed round her like a parliament of
bees. Now and then people shouldered past her, a
woman trod on her foot and neglected to apologise ;
parcels, too inconveniently carried, struck her as she
passed. vShe felt the joy of the lost, for none looked
at her, save now and then a man drowned in the sea
of w^omen. The atmosphere was stuffy, however, and
time was precious as she had put off buying presents
until so late. Followed by a porter with her parcels
she left the Stores, experiencing the pleasure of credit
on an overdrawn deposit order account. The man
piled the goods in a cab and, in a few minutes, she
had transferred Betty's presents to a carrier's office

A BED OF ROSES 219

with instructions to send them off at eight o'clock by
a messenger who was to wait at the door imtil the
addressee returned. This was not mmecessary fore-
sight, for Betty would not he back until nine. With
the Major's cigarette case in her white muff, Victoria
then di-ove to Bond Street, there to snatch a cup of
tea. On the way she stopped the cab to buy a lace
blouse for Mary and an umbrella for Charlotte, having
forgotten them in her hurry. She decided to have
tea at Miss Fortesque's, for Miss Fortesque's is one of
those tearooms where ladies serve ladies, and the
newest fashions come. It is the right place to be
seen in at five o'clock. At the door a small boy in an
Eton jacket and collar solemnly salutes with a shiny
tojpper. Inside, the English character of the room is
emphasized. There are no bamboo tables, no skimpy
French chairs or Japanese umbrellas ; everything is
severely i)lain and impeccably clean. The wood
shines, the table linen is hard and glossy, the glass is
hand cut and heav^-, the plate quite plain and
obviously dear. On the white distempered walls are
colour prints after Repiolds, Romney, Gainsborough.
All conspires with the thick carpet to promote silence,
even the china and glass which seem no more to dare
to rattle than if they were used in a men's club.

Victoria settled down in a large chintz-covered arm
chair and ordered tea from a good-looking girl in a
dark grey blouse and dress. Visibly a hockey skirt
had not long ago been more natural to her. As she
returned Victoria observed the slim straight lines of
her undeveloped figure. She was half graceful, half
gawky, like most young English girls.

'It's been very cold to-day, hasn't it?' said the
girl as she set down bread and butter, then cake and
jam sandwiches.

' Very,' Victoria looked at her narrowly. ' I suppose
it doesn't matter much in here, though.'

'Oh, no, we don't notice it.' The girl looked

220 A BED OF ROSES

wearj'- for a second. Then she smiled at Victoria and
"walked away to a corner where she stood listlesslj''.

' Slave, slave.' The words rang through Victoria's
head. * You talk to me when you're sick of the sight
of me. You talk of things you don't care about.
You smile if you feel your face shows you are tired,
in the hope I'll tip you silver instead of copper.'

Victoria looked round the room. It was fairly full,
and as Fortesquean as it was British. The Fortesque
tradition is less fluid than the constitution of the
Empire. Its tables shout ' we are old wood ' ; its cups
say ' we are real porcelain ' ; and its customers look at
one another and say ' who the devil are you ? '
Nobod}^ thinks of having tea there unless they have
between one and three thousand a year. It is too
quiet for ten thousand a year or for three pounds a
week ; it caters for ladies and gentlemen and freezes
out everybody else, regardless of turnover. Thus its
congregation (for its afternoon rite is almost liieratical)
invariably includes a retired colonel, a dowager with
a daughter about to come out, several squiresses who
came to J\iiss Fortesque's as little girls and are
handing on the torch to their own. There is a
sprinkling of women who have been shopping in
Bond Street, buying things good but not show}^ As
tlie customers, or rather clients, lapse with a sigh into
the comfortable armchairs they look round with the
covert eloquence that says : ' And who the devil are
you ? ' ^

Victoria was in her element. She had had tea at
Miss Fortescue's some dozen years before when up
for the week from Lympton ; thus she felt she had
the freedom of the house. She sipped her tea. and
dropped crumbs with unconcern. She looked at the
dowager wdthout curiosity. The do-wager speculated
as to the maker of her coat and skirt. Victoria's
eyes fixed again on the girl who was passing her with
£L laden tray. The effort was bringing out the

A BED OF ROSES 221

beautiful lines of tlie slender arms, drooping
shoulders, round bust. Her fair hair clustered low
over the creamy nape.

'Slave, slave,' thought Victoria again. 'What are
you doing you fool ? Roughening your hands, losing
flesh, growing old. And there's nothing for a girl to
do but serve on, serve, always serve. Until you get
too old. And then, scrapped. Or you marry . . .
anything that comes along. Good luck to you,
paragon, on your eight bob a week.'

Victoria went downstairs and got into the cab
which had been waiting for her with the servants'
presents. It was no longer cold, but foggy and warm.
She undid her white fox stole, dropping on the seat
her crocodile skin bag, whence escaped a swollen
purse of gold mesh.

Upstairs the girl cleared away. Under the butter
smeared plate which slipped through her fingers she
found half-a-crown. Her heart bounded with joy.

CHAPTER II

' Tom, you know how I hate tournedos,' said Victoria
petulantly.

* Sorry, old girl.' Cairns turned and motioned to
the waiter. While he was exchanging murmurs with
the man Victoria observed him. Cairns was not
bad looking, redder and stouter than ever. He was
turning into the ' jolly old Major ' type, short, broad,
strangled in cross barred cravats and tight frockcoats.
In evening dress, his face and hands emerging from
his shirt and coUar, he looked like an enormous dish
of strawberries and cream.

' I've ordered quails for you ? Will that do, Miss
Dainty ? '

' Yes, that's better.'

She smiled at him and he smiled back.

* By jove, Vic,' he whispered, ' you look fine. Noth-
ing like jjink shades for the complexion.'

' I think you're very rude,' said Victoria smiling.

' Honest,' said Cairns. ' And why not ? No harm
in looking your best is there? Now my light's
yellow. Brings me down from tomato to carrot.'

' Fishing again. No good, Tonmiy old chap.'

' Never mind me,' said Cairns with a laugh. He
paused and looked intently at Victoria, then cautiously
round him. They were almost in the middle of the
restaurant, but it was still only half full. Cairns had
fixed dinner for seven, though they were only due for
a music hall ; he hated to hurry over his coffee.
Thus they were in a little island of pink light

A BED OF ROSES 223

surrounded by penumbra. Softly attuned, Mimi's
song before tlie gates of Paris, floated in from tlie
balcony.

' Vic,' said Cairns gravely, ' you're lovely. I've
never seen you like this before.'

' Do you like my gown ? ' she asked coquettishly.

' Your gown ! ' Cairns said with scorn. ' Your
gown's like a stalk, Vic, and you're a big white
flower biu'sting fi-om it ... a big white flower,
pink flecked, scented. . . .'

'Sh. . . Tom, don't talk like that in here.' Victoria
slid her foot forward, slipped off her shoe and genth-
put her foot on the Major's instep. His eyes blinked
quickly twdce. He reached out for his glass and
gulped down the champagne.

The waiter returned, velvet footed. Everj'- one of
his gestures consecrated the quails resting on the
flowered wliite plates, surrounded by a succulent lake
of aromatic sauce.

They ate silently. There was already between
them the good understanding which makes speech
unnecessary. Victoria looked about her from time to
time. The couples interested her, for they were
nearly all couples. Most of them comprised a man
between thirty and forty, and a woman some years his
junior. Their behaviour was sev^erely decorous, in
fact a little languid. From a table near by a woman's
voice floated lazily,

' I rather like this pub, Robbie.'

Indeed the acceptance of the pubishness of the
place was characteristic of its frequenters. Most of
the men looked vaguely weary ; some keenly
interested bent over the silver laden tables, their
eyes fixed on their women's arms. Here and there
a foreigner with coal black hair, a soft shirt front
and a fancy white w^aistcoat, spiced with originality
the sedateness of English gaiety. An American
■woman was giving herself aw^ay by a semitone, but

224 A BED OF ROSES

her gown was exquisite and its decolletage eliallenged
gravitation.

Cairns' attitude was exasperatingly that of Gallio,
save as concerned Victoria. His ej^es did not leave
her. She knew perfectly well that he was inspecting
her, watching the rise and fall on her white breast
of his Christmas gift, a diamond cross. They both
refused the mousse and Victoria mischievously leant
forward, her hands crossed under' her chin, her arms
so near Cairns' face that he could see on them the
line black shading of the down.

' Well, Tom ? ' she asked. ' Quite happy ? '

' No,' growled Cairns, ' 3^011 know what I want.'

' Patience and shuffle the cards,' said Victoria, ' and
be thankful I'm here at all. But I mustn't rot you
Toimny dear, after a present like that.'

She slipped her fingers under the diamond cross.
Cairns watched the picture made by the rosy manicured
finger nails, the sparkling stones, the white skin.

' A pitj^ it doesn't match my rings,' she remarked.

Cairns looked at her hand.

' Oh, no more it does. I thought you had a half
hoop. Never mind, dear. Give me that sapphire ring.'

'What do you want it for?' asked Victoria with a
conscious smile.

' That's my business.'

She slipped it off. He took it, pressing her fingers.

' I think you ought to have a half hoop,' he said
conclusively.

Victoria leant back in her chair. Her smile was
triumphant. Ti-ulj^, men are hard masters but docile
slaves.

' You'll spoil me, Tom,' she said weakly. ' I don't
want you to think that I'm fishing for things. I'm
quite happy, you know. I'd rather you didn't give
me another ring.'

' Nonsense,' said Cairns, * I wouldn't give it j^ou
if I didn't like to see it on jovix hand.'

A BJtiD OF ROSES 225

'I don't believe you,' she said smoothly, but the
phrase rang true.

Some minutes later, as they passed down the stairs
into the palm room, she was conscious of the eyes
that followed her. Those of the men were mostly
a little dilated ; the women seemed more cynically
interested, as suits those who appraise not bodies
but garments. Major Cairns, walking a step behind
her, was still looking well, witli his close cut hair
and moustache, stiff white linen and erect bearing,
^"ictoria realised herself as a queen in a worthy
kingdom. But the kingdom was not the one she
wished to hold with all the force of her beauty. That
beauty was transitory, or at least its subtler quality
was. As Victoria lay in the brougham with Cairns'
arm holding her close to him, she still remembered
that the fading of her beauty might synchronise with
the growth of her Avealth. A memory from some
book on political economy flashed through her mind :
beauty was a wasting asset.

Cairns kissed her on the lips. An atmosphere of
champagne, coffee, tobacco, enveloped her as her
breath mixed with his. She coiled one arm round
his neck and returned his kisses.

' Vic, Vic,' he murmured, ' can't you love me a little ? '

She put her hand behind his neck and once more
kissed his lips. He must be lulled, but not into
security.

Victoria had never realised her strength and her
freedom so well as that night, as she leant back in
her box. Her face and breast, the ]\Iajor's shirt front,
were the only spots of light which emerged fi-om the
darkness of the box as if pictured by a German
impressionist ; down below, under the mist, the
damned souls revelled in the cheap seats ; they
swayed, a black mass speckled with hundreds of
white collars, dotted with points of fire in the bowls
of pipes. By the side of the men, girls in white
p

226 A BED OF ROSES

blouses or cnide colours, shrouded in the mist of
tobacco smoke. Now and then a ring coiled up from
a cigar in the stalls, swirled in the air for a moment
and then broke.

Just behind the footlights blazing over the black-
ness, a little fat man, with preposterous breeches, a
coat of many colours, a yellow wisp of hair clashing
Avith his vinous nose, sang of the Bank and his
manifold accounts. A faint salvo of applause ushered
him out, then swelled into a tempest as the next
number went up.

' Tommy Bung, you're in luck,' said the Major,
taking off Victoria's wrap.

She craned forward to see. A woman with masses
of fair hair, bowered in blue velvet, took a long-
look at her fi'om the stage box through an opera
glass.

The curtain went ux). There was a roar of applause.
Tommy Bung was ready for the audience and had
already fallen into a tub of whitewash. The sorry
object extricated itself. His red nose shone, star like.
He rolled ferocious eyes at a girl. The crowd rocked
with joy. Without a word the great Tommy Bung
began to dance. At once the hall followed the
splendid metre. Up and down, up and down, twist-
ing, curvetting. Tommy Bung held his audience
spellbound with rhythm. They swayed sharplj^ with
the alternations.

Victoria watched the Major. His hands were
beating time. Tommy Bung brought his effort to a
conclusion by beating the floor, the soles of his feet,
the scenery, and punctuated the final thwack with
a well timed leap on to the prompter's box.

Victoria was losing touch with things. Waves of
heat seemed to overwhelm her ; little figures of
jugglers, gymnasts, perfoiming dogs, passed before
her eyes like arabesques. Then again raucous voices.
The crowd was applauding hysterically. It was

A BED OF ROSES 227

Number Fourteen, whose great name slie was fated
never to know. Unsteadily poised on legs wide
apart, Number Fourteen sang. Uncontrollable glee
radiated from Mm —

Is^ow kids is orl right

AVhen yer ain't got none ;

Yer can sit at 'ome

An' eat 'clier dam bun.

I've just 'ad some twins ;

Nurse says don't be coj'',

For they're just the picture

Of the lodger's boy.

Tinka, Tinka, Tinka ; Tinka, Tinka. Tink
'It 'im in the eye and made the lodger bhnk.
Tinga, Tinga, Tinga ; Tinga, Tinga, Teg
JS^ever larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg.

A roar of applause encouraged liim. Victoria saw
Cairns carried away, clapping, laughing. In the bar
below she could hear coutinously the thud of the
levers belching beer. Number Fourteen was still
singing, his smile wide-slit through his face —

'Now me paw-in-]aw

'E's a rum ole bloke ;

Got a 'and as light

As a ton o' coke.

Came 'ome late one night

An' what oh did 'e see?

Saw me ma-in-law

On the lodger's knee.

Tinka, Tinka, Tinka ; Tinka, Tinka, Tink
'It 'im in the eye an' made the lodger blink.
Tinga, Tinga, Tinga ; Tinga, Tinga, Teg,
Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg.

Enthusiasm was rising high. Number Fourteen
braced himself for his great effort on the effects of
beer. Then, gracious and master of the crowd, he
beat time with his hands while the chorus sounded
from a thousand throats. Victoria happened to look

228 A BED OF ROSES

at Cairns. EQs head was beating time and, from his
lips issued gleefully :

Tinka, Tinka, Tinka ; Tinka, Tinka, Tink,
'It 'mi in the eye —

Victoria scrutinised him narrowly. Cairns was a
phenomenon.

' Never larfed so much since farrer broke 'is leg,'
roared Cairns. ' I say, Vic, he really is good.' He
noticed her puzzled expression. ' I say, A'^ic, what's
up ? Don't you like him ? '

Victoria did not answer for a second.

' Oh, yes, I — he's very funny — you see I've never
been in a music hall before.'

'Oh, is that it?' Cairns' brow cleared. 'It's a
little coarse, but so natural.'

' Is that the same thing ? ' asked Victoria.

' S'pose it is. With some of us anj'how. But
what's the next ? '

Cairns had already relapsed into the programme.
He hated the abstract ; a public school, Sandhurst
and the army had armoured him magnificently
against intrusive thought. They watched the next
tm-n silently. A couple of cross-talk comedians, one
a shocking creature in pegtop trousers, a shock yellow
head and a battered opera hat, the other young,
handsome and smart as a superior barber's assistant,
gibbered incomprehensibly of songs they couldn't
sing and lies they could tell.

The splendid irresponsibility of the music hall was
wasted on Victoria. She had the mind of a school-
mistress grafted on a social sense. She saw nothing
before her but the gross riot of the drunken. She
saw no Immour in that cockney cruelty, capable
though it be of absurd generosity. She resented too
Cairns' boyish pleasure in it all ; he revelled, she
felt, as a buffalo wallows in a mud bath. He was
gross, stupid, dull. It was degrading to be his

A BED OF ROSES 229

instrument of pleasure. But, after all, what did it
matter ? He was the narrow way which would lead
lier to the august.

Though Cairns was not thin-skinned he perceived
a little of this. Without a word he watched the
cross talk comedians, then the ' Dandy Girl of
Cornucopia,' a rainbow of stiff silk frills with a voice
like a fretsaw. As the lights went down for the
bioscope, the idea of reconciliation that springs from
fat cheery hearts overwhelmed him. He put liis
hand out and closed it over hers. With a tremendous
effort she repressed her repulsion and, in so doing,
won her victory. In the darkness Cairns tlu'ew his
arms round her. He drew her towards him, moved,
tlie least bit hysterical. As if fearful of losing her
he crushed her against his shirt front.

Victoria did not resist him. Her eyes fixed on the
blackness of the roof she submitted to the growing
brutality of his kisses on her neck, her shoulders, her
cheeks. Pressed close against him she did not with-
draw her knees from the grasp of his.

' Kiss me,' whispered Cairns imperiously.

She cast down her eyes ; she could hardly see his
face in the darkness, nothing but the glitter of his
eyeballs. Then, unhurried and purposeful, she
pressed her lips to his. The lights went up again.
Many of the crowd were stirring ; Victoria stretched
out her arms in a gesture of weariness.

'Let's go home, Vic,' said Cairns, ' you're tired.'

' Oh, no, I'm not tired,' she said. ' I don't mind
staying.'

'Well, you're bored.'

' No, not at aU, it's quite interesting,' said Victoria
judicially.

' Come along, Vic,' said Cairns sharply. He
got lip.

She looked up at him. His face was redder, more
swollen than it had been lialf-an-hour l3efore. His

230 A BED OF ROSES

eyes followed every movemeut of Ler arms and
shoulders. Witli a faint smile of understanding and
the patience of those who play lone hands, she got
up and let liim put on her wrap. As she put it on
she made him feel against his fingers the sweep
of her arm ; she rested for a moment her shoulder
against his.

In the cab they did not exchange a word. Victoria's
eyes were fixed on the leaden sky ; she was this man's
prey. But, after all, one man's prey or another?
The prey of those who demand bitter toil fi'om the
charwoman, the female miner, the P.R.R. girl or of
those who want kisses, soft flesh, prmgent scents,
what did it all amoimt to? And, in Oxford Street,
a sky sign in the shape of a horse-shoe advertising
whisk}^ suddenly reminded her of the half hoop, a
step towards that capital which meant fi'eedom.
No, she was not the prey, at least not in the sense of
the bait which finally captures the sahnon.

Cairns had not spoken a word. Victoria looked at
him furtively. His hands were clenched before him ;
in his ej*es shone an indomitable purpose. He was
going to the feast and he would foot the bill. On
arriving at Elm Tree Place he walked at once into
his dressing room, while Victoria went into her
bedroom. She knew his mood well and knew too
that he would not be long. She did not fancy over-
much the scene she could conjure up. In another
minute or two he would come in with the culture of
a thousand years ground down, smothered beneath
the lava-like flow of animalism. He would come
with his hands shaking, ready to be cruel in the
exaction of his rights. She hovered between repul-
sion and an anxiety which was almost anticipation ;
Cairns was the known and the unknown at once.
But wliatever his demands they should be met and
satisfied, for business is business and its justification
is profits. So Victoria braced herself and, with

A BED OF ROSES 231

feverish activity, twisted up licr hair, sprayed her-
self with scent, jumped into loed and turned out the
light.

As she did so the door opened. She was conscious
for a fraction of a second of the bright quadrilateral
of the open door where Cairns stood fi-anied, a broad
black silhouette.

CHAPTER 111

* Yes, I'm a lucky beggar,' soliloquised Cairns. He
gave a tug to the leads at which two Pekingese
spaniels were straining, ' Come along, 3^011 little
brutes,' he growled. The spaniels, intent upon a
piece of soiled brown paper in the gutter, refused to
move.

' Obstinate, sir,' said a policeman respectfully.

' Devilish. Simply devilish. Fine day, isn't it ? '

' Blowing up for rain, sir.'

' Maybe. Come along, Snoo ; that'll do.'

Cairns dragged the dogs up the road. Snoo and
Poo, husband and wife, had suddenly fascinated him
in Villiers Street that morning. He was on his way
to offer them at Victoria's slmne. Instinctively he
liked the smart dog, as he liked the smart woman
and the American noA^el. Snoo and Poo, tiny, fat,
curly, khaki-coloured, with their flat Kalmuck faces,
unwillingly trundled behind him. They would,
thought Cairns, be in keeping with the establish-
ment. A pleasant establishment. A nice little
house, in its quiet street where nothing ever seemed
to pass except, every hour or so, a cab. It was
better than a home, for it offered all that a home
offers, soft carpets, discreet servants, nice little
lunches among flowers and well-cleaned plate, and
beyond, something that no home contains. It was
adventurous. Cairns had knocked about the world
a good deal and had collected sensations as finer
natures collect thoughts. The women of the past,

232

A BED OF ROSES 233

met and caressed on steam-boats, in hotels at Cairo,
Singapore and Cape Town, the tea gardens of Kobe
and the stranger mysteries of Zanzibar, all this had
left him weaiy and sighing for something like the
English home. Indeed he grew more sentimental
as he thought of Dover cliffs every time his tailor
called the measurement of his girth. An extra
quarter of an inch invariably coincided with a senti-
mental pang. Cairns, however, would not yet have
been capable of settling down in a hunting county
with a well-connected wife, a costly farming experi-
ment and the shilling weeklies. A transition was
required ; he had no gift of introspection but his
relations with Victoria were expressions of this mood.
Thus he was happy.

He never entered the little house in Elm Tree Place
without a thrill of pleasure. Under the placid mask
of its respectability and all that went with it, clean
white steps, half curtains, bulbs in the window boxes,
there flowed for him a swift hot stream. And in
that stream flourished a beautiful white lily whose
petals opened and smiled at will.

' I wonder whether I'm in love Math her ? ' This
was a frequent subject for Cairns' meditations.
Victoria was so much more for him than any other
woman had been that he always hesitated to answei-.
She charmed him sensually, but other women had
done likewise ; she was beautiful, but he could con-
ceive of greater beauty. Her intellect he did not
consider, for he Avas almost unaware of it. For him
she was clever, in the sense that women are clever in
men's eyes when they can give a smart answer,
understand Bradshaw and order a possible combina-
tion at a restaurant. What impressed him was
Victoria's coolness, the balance of her unhurried
mind. Now and then he caught her reading curious
books, such as Smiles' Self-Help, Letters of a Sclf-
Made Merchant to his Son, and Thus Spake Zara . . .

234 A BED OF ROSES

Something, by a man with a funny name, but this
was all part of her character and of its novelty. He
did not worry to scratch the surface of this brain ;
virgin soils did not interest him in the mental sense.
Sometimes, when he enounced a political opinion or
generalised on the problems of the day as stated in
the morning paper, he Avould find, a little uneasily,
her eyes fixed on him wdtli a strangely interested
look. But her eyelids would at once be lowered and
her lips would part, showing a little redder and
moister, causing his heart to beat quicker and he
would forget his perplexity as he took her hand and
stroked her arm with gentle insistence.

Cairns dragged Snoo and Poo up the steps of the
little house still grumbling, panting and protesting
that, as drawing-room dogs, they objected to exercise
in any form. He had a latchkey but always refrained
from using it. He liked to ring the bell, to feel like
a guest. It would have been commonplace to enter
his hall and hang up his hat on his peg. That would
have been home and home only. To ask whether
Mrs Ferris was in was more adventurous, for she
might be out. And if she expected him, then it was
an assignation, adventure again.

The unimposing Mary let him in. For a fraction
of a second she looked at the Major, then at the
floor.

' Mrs Ferris in ? '

' Yes, sir, Mrs Ferris is in the boudoir.' Mary's
voice fell on the last necessaiy word like a dropgate.
Slie had been asked a question and answered it.
That was the end of it. Cairns was the master of
her mistress. What respect she owed she paid.

Cairns deposited his hat and coat in Mary's hands.
Then, lifting Snoo under one arm and Poo under the
other, botli grumbling vigorously and kicking with
their hind legs, he walked to the boudoir and pushed
it open with his shoulder. Victoria was sitting at

A BED OF ROSES 235

the little bureau writing a letter. Cairns watched
her for two seconds, rejoicing in the firm white
moulding of her neck, in the dark tendrils of hair
clustering low, dwindling into the central line of
down which tells of breeding and healtli. Then
Victoria turned round sharply.

' Oh,' she said, with a little gasp. ' Oh, Tom, the
ducks ! '

Cairns laughed and, walking up to her, dropped
Snoo on her lap and Poo, snuffling ferocioush', on the
floor. Victoria buried her hands in Snoo's thick
coat ; the dog gurgled joyfully and rolled over on its
side. Victoria laughed, muzzling Snoo with her hand.
Cairns watched the picture for a moment. He
was absurdly reminded of a girl in Java who nursed
a black marmoset against her yellow breast. And as
Victoria looked up at him, her chin now resting on
Snoo's brown head, a soft wave of scent rose towards
him. He knelt down, throwing his arms round her
and the dog, gathering them both into his embrace.
As his lips met hers and clung to them, her perfume
and the ranker scent of the dog filled his nostrils,
burning aphrodisiac into his brain.

Victoria freed herself gently and rose to her feet,
still nursing Snoo, and laughingly pushed him into
Cairns' face.

' Kiss him,' she said, ' no favours here.'
Cairns obeyed, then picked up Poo and sat down
on the couch.

' This is sweet of you, Tom,' said Victoria. ' They
are lovebirds.'

' I'm glad you like them ; this is Poo I'm holding,
youi's is Snoo.'

' Odd names,' said Victoria.

* Chinese according to the dealer,' said Cairns, ' but
I don't pretend to know what they mean.'

'NcA-er mind,' said Victoria, ' they're lovebirds, and
so are you, Tom.'

236 A BED OF ROSES

Cairns looked at lier silently, at her full erect figure
and smiling eyes. He was a lucky beggar, a danined
lucky beggar.

' And Avhat is this bribe for? ' she asked.

' Oh, nothing. Knew you'd like them, beastly
tempers and as game as mice. Women's dogs, you
know.'

' Generalising again, Tom. Besides I hate mice.'

Cairns drew her doivm by his side on the couch.
Eveiything in this woman interested and stimulated
him. She was always fresh, always young. The
touch of her hand, the smell of her hair, the feel of her
skirts winding round his ankles, all that was magic ;
every little act of hers was a taking of possession.
Ever}- time he mirrored his face in her eyes and saw
the eyelids slowly veil and unveil them, something
like love crept into his soid. But every passionate
embrace left him weak and almost repelled. She was
his property ; he had paid for her and, insistent
thought, what woidd she have done if he had not
been rich ?

HaK an hour passed away. Victoria lay passive in
his arms. Snoo and Poo, piled in a heap, were
snuffling drowsily. There was a ring at the fi'ont
door, then a slam. They could hear voices. They
started up.

' Who the deuce ....?' said Cairns.

Then they heard someone in the dining-room
beyoud the door. There was a knock at the door of
the boudoir.

' Come in,' said Victoria.

Mary entered. Her placid eyes passed over the
Major's tie which had burst out of his waistcoat,
Victoria's tumbled hair.

' Mr Wren, mum,' she said.

Victoria staggered. Her hands knotted themselves
together convulsively.

' Good God,' she whispered.

A BED OF ROSES 237

' Who is it ? What does he want ? What name
did you say ? ' asked Cairns. A^ictoria's excitement
was infecting him.

Victoria did not answer. Mary stood before them,
her eyes downcast before the drama. She was wait-
ing for orders.

' Can't yon speak ? ' growled Cairns. ' Who is it ? '

Victoria found her voice at last.

' My brother,' she said hoarsely.

Cairns did not say a word. He walked once up and
once down the room, stopped before the mirror to
settle liis tie. Then turned to Maiy.

' Tell the gentleman Mrs Ferris can't see him.'

Mary turned to go. There was a sound of footsteps
in the dining-room. The button of the door turned
twice as if somebody was trying to open it. The
door was locked but Cairns almost leapt towards it.
Victoria stopped him.

' No,' she said, ' let me have it out. Tell Mr Wren
I'm coming, Mary.'

Mary turned away. The incident was fading from
her mind as a stone fades away as it falls into an
abyss. Victoria clung to Cairns and whispered in
his ear.

' Tom, go away, go away. Come back in an hour.
I beg you.'

'No, old girl, I'm going to see you through,' said
Cairns doggedly.

'No, no, don't.' There was fear in her voice. 'I
must have it out. Go away, for my sake, Tom.'

She pushed him gently into the hall, forced him to
pick up his hat and stick and closed the door behind
him. She braced herself for the effort ; for a second
the staircase shivered before her eyes like a road in
the heat.

' Now for it,' she said, ' I'm in for a row.'

A pleasant little tingle was in her veins. She
opened the dining-room door. It was not very light.

238 A BED OF ROSES

There was a slight singing in her ears. She saw
nothing before her except a man's legs clad in worn
gTey trousers where the knees jutted forward sharply.
With an effort she raised her eyes and looked Edward
in the face.

He was pale and thin as ever. A ragged wisp of
yellow hair hung over the left side of his forehead.
He peered at her through his silver mounted glasses.
His hands were twisting at his watch chain, quickly,
nervously, like a mouse in a wheel. As she looked at
his weak mouth his insignificance was revealed to her.
Was this, this creature with the vague idealistic face,
the high shoulders, something to be afraid of ? Pooh !

' Well, Edward ? ' she said, involuntarily aggressive.

Wren did not answer. His hands suddenly stopped
revoh^ing.

' Well, Edward ? ' she repeated. ' So you've found
me? '

'Yes,' he said at length. 'I . . . . Yes, I've
found you.' The movement of his hands began again.

'Well?'

'I know. I've found out. . . . I went to Finsbury.'

'Oh? I suppose you mean you tracked me from
my old rooms. I suppose Betty told you I ... my
new occupation.'

Wren jumped.

' Damn,' he growled. ' Damn jou.'

Victoria smiled. Edward swearing. It was too
funny. What an awful thing it was to have a sense
of humour.

' You seem to know all al30ut it,' she said smoothly.
' But what do you want ? '

' How dare you ? ' growled Edward. ' A woman
like you. . . .'

A hard look came into Victoria's eyes.

' That will do Edward, I know my own business.'

' Yes, a dirty business.' A hot flush spread over
the man's thin cheeks.

A BED OF ROSES 239

* You little cur.' Victoria smiled ; she could feel
lier lips baring lier eve teeth. ' Fool.'

Edward stared at her. Passion was stifling his
words.

' It's a lot you know about life, schoolmaster,' she
sneered. ' "Who are you to preach at me ? Is it youi-
business if I choose to sell my body instead of selling
my labour ? '

' You're disgraced.' His A'oice went down to a
hoarse whisper. ' Disgraced.'

Victoria felt a wave of heat pass over her body.

' Disgi-aced, you fool ? WiU anybody e\er teach
you what disgrace is? There's no such thing as
disgrace for a woman. All women are disgraced
when they're born. We're parasites, toys. That's
all we are. You've got two kinds of uses for us, lords
and masters ; one kind is honourable labour, as you
say, namely the work undertaken by what you call
the lower classes ; the other's a share in the
nuptial couch, whether illegal or legal. Yes, your
holy matrimony is only another name for my
profession.'

'You've no right to say that,' cried Edward.
' You're trying to drag down marriage to your lev'^el.
When a woman marries she gives herself because she
loves ; then her sacrifice is sublime.' He stopped for
a second. Idealism, sentimentahsm, other names for
ignorance of life, clashed in his self-conscious brain
without producing light. ' Oh, Victoria,' he said,
' you don't know how awful it is for me to find you
like this, my little sister ... of course you can't
love him ... if you'd married him it would have
been different.'

' Ah, Edward, so that's your philosopliy. You say
that though I don't love him, if I'd married him it
would have been different. So you won't let me
surrender to a man unless I can trick him or goad
him into binding himself to me for life. If I don't

240 A BED OF ROSES

love liim I may many liim and make his life a liell
and I shall be a good woman ; but I mustn't live
with him illegally so that he may stick to me only so
long as he cares for me.'

' I didn't say that,' stammered Edward. ' Of course,
it's wrong to marry a man yon don't care for . . .
but marriage is different, it sanctifies.'

' Sanctifies ! Nothing sanctifies anything. Our
deeds are holy or unholy in themselves. Oh, under-
stand me well, I claim no ethical revelation ; I don't
care whether my deeds are holy or not. I judge
nothing, not even myself. All I saj is that your holy
bond is a farce ; if women were free, that is trained ,
able and allowed to earn fair wages for fair labour,
then marriage might be holy. But marriage for a
woman is a monetary contract. It means that she is
kept, clothed, amused ; she is petted like a favourite
dog, indulged like a spoiled child. In exchange she
gives her body.'

'No, no.'

' Yes, yes. And the difference between a married
Avoman and me is her superior craft, her ability to
secure a grip upon a man. You respect her because
she is permanent, as you respect a vested interest.'

The flush rose again in Edward's cheeks. As he
lost ground he fortified his obstinacy.

' You've sold yourself,' he said quickly, ' gone down
into tlie gutter. . . . Oh ! '

' The gutter ! ' Victoria was so full of contempt
that it almost hurt her. ' Of course I'm in the gutter.
I always was in the gutter. I was in the gutter when
I married and my husband boarded and lodged me to
be his favourite. I was in the gutter when I had to
kow-tow to underbred people ; to be a companion is
to prostitute friendship. You don't mind that, do
you ? I was in the gutter in the tea shops, when I
decoyed men into coming to the place because they
could touch me, breathe me. I'm in the gutter now,

A BED OF ROSES 241

but I'm ill the riglit one. I've found the one that's
going to make me free.'

Edward was shaken by her passion.

'You'll never be free,' he faltered, 'you're an
outcast.'

' An outcast from what? ' sneered Victoria. ' From
society? What has society done for me? It's
kicked me, it's bled me. It's made me work ten
hours a day for eight bob a week. It'd have sucked
me diy and offered me the workhouse, or the Thames
at the end. It made me almost a cripple.'

Edward stared.

' Yes,' said Victoria savagelj^ ' That makes you
squirm, sentimentalist. Look at that ! '

She put her foot on a chair, tucked up her skirt,
tore down the stocking. Purplish still, the veins
stood out on the firm white flesh.

Edward clenched both his hands and looked away.
A look of pain was in his eyes.

' Yes, look at that,' raged Victoria. ' That's what
your society's done for me. It's chucked me into the
water to teach me to swim, and it's gloated over every
choke. It's fine talking about chivalry, isn't it, w^heii
you see what honest labour's done for me, isn't it?
It's fine talking about purity Avhen you see the price
your society pays me for being what I am, isn't it?
Look at me. Look at my lace, look at my diamonds,
look at my house . . . and think of the other side,
eight bob a week, ten hours work a day, a room
with no fire, and a bed with no sheets. But
I know your society now, and as I can't kill
it I'll cheat it. I've served it and it's got two
years of my life ; but I'm going to get enough out of
it to make it crawl.'

She strode towards Edward.

' So don't you come preaching to me,' she hissed.

Edward's head bent down. Slowly he walked
towards the door.
Q

2 42 A BED OF ROSES

' Yes,' she said, ' go. I've no use for j^ou. I'm out
for stronger meat.'

He opened the door, then, without looking up,

' Good-bj-e,' he said.

The door closed behind him. Victoria looked
about her for some seconds, then sat down in the
carving chair, her arms outstretched on the table.
Her teeth were clenched now, her jaw set ; with
indomitable purpose she looked out into the darkening
room where she saw the battle and victory of life.

CHAPTER IV

Victoria had never loved adventure for its own sake.

The change from drudgery to leisure was grateful as

was all it brought in the shape of pretty clothes,

jewels and savoury dishes, but she realised every day

better that, taking it as a profession, her career was

no great success. It afforded her a fair livelihood,

but the wasting asset of her beauty could not be

replaced ; thus it behoved her to amortize its value

at a rapid rate. She felt much better in health ; her

varicose veins had gone down a good deal, but she

still preserved a dark mystery about them : after six

months of intimate association, Cairns did not yet

know why he had never seen Victoria without her

stockings. Being man of the world enough to

know that discretion is happiness, he had never

pressed the point; a yoimger or more sensitive man

would have torn away the veil, so as to achieve total

intimacy at the risk of wrecking it. He was not of

these, and vaguely Victoria did not thank him for

a sentiment half discreet, half indifferent ; such an

attitude for a lover suggested disregard for essentials.

As she grew stronger and healthier her brain worked

more clearly, and she began to realise that even ten

years of association with this man would yield no

more than a pittance. And it would be difficult to

hold him for ten years.

Victoria certainly went ably to work to preserve for
Cairns the feeling of novelty and adventure. It was
practically in deference to her suggestions that he

244 A BED OF ROSES

retained his chambers ; he soon realised her Musdom
and entered into the spirit of their life. He still
understood very well the pleasure of being her guest,
Victoria found no decline in his desire ; perhaps it
was less fier}', but it was as coarse and as constant.
Certainly she was woman for him rather than merely
a woman ; moreover she was a habit. Victoria saw
this clearly enough and resolved to make the most of it.

In accordance with her principles she kept her
expenses down. She would not even allow herself the
luxuiy of a maid ; she found it cheajDer to joay Mary
higher wages. Wlien Cairns was not expected her
lunch was of the simplest, and Charlotte discovered
with amazement that her rakish mistress could check a
grocer's book. Victoria was not even above cheating
the Water Board by omitting to register her garden
tap. All ithese, however, were petty economies ; they
would result in a saving of perhaps three hundred
a year, a beggarly sum when pitted against the un-
certainties of her profession.

She realised all this within three or four months of
her new departure, and promptly decided that Cairns
must be made to yield a higher revenue. She felt
that she could not ver}- well tell him that a thousand
a year was not enough ; on the face of it it was
ample. It was necessary therefore to launch out a
little. The first step was to increase her visible
supply of clothes, and this was easily done by buying
the cheap and effective instead of the expensive and
good. Cairns knew enough about women's clothes to
detect this now and then, but the changes bewildered
him a little and he had some difficulty in seeing the
difference between the latest thing and the cheapest.
Whenever she was with him she affected the manners
of a spendthrift; she would call cabs to carry her
a hundred j-ards, give a beggar a shilling, or throw
a pair of gloves out of the window because they had
been worn once.

A BED OF ROSES 245

Cairns smiled tolerantly. She might as well have
her fling, he thought, and a lack of dicipline was as
charming in a mistress as it was deplorable in a wife.
He was therefore not surprised when, one morning,
he found Victoria apparently nervous and worried.
She owned that she was short of cash. In fact the
manager of her bank had written to point out that her
account was overcU-awn.

' Dear me,' said Cairns with mock gravity, ' you've
been going it, old girl! What's all this? "Self,"
" Self," why all these cheques are to " Self." You'll
go broke.'

' I suppose I shall,' said Victoria wearily. ' I don't
know how I do it, Tom. I'm no good at accounts.
And I hate asking you for more money . . . but what
am I to do ? '

She crossed her hands over her knees and looked
up at him with a pretty expression of appeal. Cairns
laughed.

'Don't woriy,' he said, curling a lock of her hair
round a fat forefinger. ' I'll see you thi'ough.'

Victoria received that afternoon a cheque for two
hundred and fifty pounds which she paid into her
accomit. She did not, however, inform Cairns that
the proceeds of the "Self" cheques had been paid
into a separate account which she had opened with
another bank. By this means, she was always able
to exhibit a gloomy pass book whenever it was
required.

Having discovered that Cairns was squeezable
Victoria felt more hopeful as to the future. She was
his only luxury and made the most of his liking for
jevvrellery and furs. She even hit upon the more
ingenious experiment of interesting Barbezan Soeurs
in her little speculations. The device was not novel :
for a consideration of ten per cent these bustling
dressmakers were ready to provide fictitious bills and
even solicitor's letters couched in frigidly menacing

246 A BED OF ROSES

terms. Cairns langlied and i^aid solidly. He liad
apparently far more money than he needed. Victoria
■was ahnost an economy ; without her he would have
lost a fortune at bridge, kept a yacht perhaps
and certainly a motor. As it Avas he was quite
content with his poky chambers in St James', i a
couple of clubs which he never thought of entering,
the house in Elm Tree Place and a stock of good
cigars.

Cairns was happy, and Victoria labouring lightly
for large profits, was contented too. Theirs were
lazy lives, for Cairns was a man who could loaf. He
loafed so successfully that he did not even think of
interfering with A^ictoria's reading. She now read
steadily and voraciously ; she eschewed novels, fearing
the influence of sentiment. 'It will be time for
sentiment by and by,' she sometimes told lierself.
Meanwhile she annoured her heart and sharpened
her wits. The earlier political opinions which had
formed in her mind under the pressure of toil remained
unchanged but did not develop. She recognised her-
self as a parasite and almost gloried in it. S^ She
evolved as a system of philosophy that one's conduct
ill life is a matter of alternatives. Nothing was good
and nothing was evil ; things were better than others
or worse and there was an end of her morality. A^ictoria
had no patience with theories. One day, much to
Cairns' surprise, she violently flung IngersoU's essays
into the fender.

'Steady on,' said Cairns, 'steady on, old girl.'

' Such rot,' she snarled.

' Hear, hear,' said Cairns, picking up the book and
looking at its title. 'Serve you right for ^reading
that sort of stuff. I can't make you out, A^ic'

Victoria looked at him with a faint smile, but
refused to assign a cause for her anger. ^ In fact she
had suddenly been irritated by IngersoU's definition
of morality. 'Perceived obligation,' she thought.

A BED OF ROSES 247

' ^Vnd I don't perceive any obligation ! ' She consoled
herself suddenly with the thought that her amorality
was a characteristic of the superman.

The superman preoccupied her now and then. He
was a good subject for speculation because imponder-
able and inexistent. The nearest approach she could
think of was a cross between an efficient colonial
governor and a latter day prophet. She believed
quite sincerely that the day must come when children
of the light must be born, capable of ruling and of
keeping the law. She saw very well too that their pro-
duction did not lie with an effete aristocracy any more
than with a dirty and drunken democracy ; probably
they would be neo-plutocrats, men full of ambition,
lusting for power and yet imbued with a spirit of
icy justice. Her earliest tendency had been towards
an idealistic socialism. Burning with her own wrongs
and touched by the angelic wing of sympathy, she
had seen in the communisation of wealth the only
means of curbing the evils it had hitherto wrought.
Further observation showed her however that an
idealism of this kind would not lead the world
speedily into a peaceful haven. She saw too well
that covetousness was still lurking snakelike in the
bosom of man, ready to rear its ugly head and strike
at any hand. Thus she was not surprised to see the
chaos which reigned among socialists, their intriguing,
their jealousies, their unending dissensions, their
apostacies. This did not throw her back into the
stereotyped philosophy of individualism, for she could
not help seeing that the system of modern life was
absurd, stupidly wasteful above all of time, labour
and wealth. To apply Nietzscheanism to socialism
was, however, beyond her ; to reconcile the two
doctrines which apparently conflict and really only
overlap was a task too difficult for a brain which had
lain fallow for twenty-five years. But she dimly felt
that Nietzscheanism did not mean a glorified im-

248 A BED OF ROSES

perialism, but a worship of intellectual efficiency and
the stringent morality of noUesse oblige.

Where Victoria began to part issue with her own
thoughts was Avhen she considered the position of
women. Their outlook was one of unrelieved gloom
and it one day came upon her as a revelation that
Kietzsche and Schopenhauer, following in a degree
on liousseau, had forgotten women in the scheme of
life. There might be supermen but there would be
no superwomen : if the supermen were true to their
type they would have to crush and to dominate the
women. As the latter fared so hard at the hands of
the pigmies of to-day, what would they do if they
could not develop in time to resist the sons of Anak ?
Victoria saw that the world was entering upon a sex
war. Hitherto a shameful state of peace had left
women in the hands of men, turning ever the other
cheek to the smiter. The sex war, however, held forth
no hopes to her ; in the dim future, sex equality might
perhaps prevail but she saw nothing to indicate that
women had sown the seeds of their victory. She had
no wish to enrol herself in the ranks of those ^^■ho
were waging an almost hopeless battle, armed with
untrained intellects and unathletic bodies. She could
not get away from the fact that the best women athletes
cannot compete with ordinaiy men, that even women
M'ith high intellectual qualifications had not ousted
from commanding positions men of inferior ability.

All this, s])e thought, was unjust, but why hope for
a change? There was nothing to show that men
grew much better as a sex ; then why pin faith to
the coming of better times ? Women were parasites,
working only under constraint, badly and at imcon-
genial tasks; their right to live was based on their
capacity to please. This brought her to her own
situation. The future lay before her in the shape of
two roads. One was the road which led to the
struggle for life, ending, she felt it too well, in a

A BED OF ROSES 249

crawl to death on crippled limbs. The other was
the road along which grew roses, roses which she
could pluck and sell to men ; at the end of that was
the heaven of independence. It had golden gates ;
it was guarded by an angel in white garments with
a palm leaf in his hands and bej'ond lay the pleasant
places where she had a right of way. And as she
looked again the heaven with the golden gates turned
into a bank with a commissionaire at the door.

Her choice being made, she did not regret it. For
the time being her life was pleasant enough and, if
it could be made a little more profitable, it w^ould
soon be well worth living and her freedom would be
earned. Meanwliile she took pleasure in small things.
The little house was almost a show place, so delicate
and refined were its inner and outer details. Victoria
saw to it that frequently changed flowers decorated
the beds in the front garden ; Japanese trees, dwarfed
and gnarled, stood right and left of the steps, scowl-
ing like tiny Titans ; all the blinds in the house were
a mass of insertion. These blinds were a feature for
her; they implied secrecy. Behind the half blinds
were thick curtains of decorated muslin ; behind
these again, heavy curtains which could be drawn
at will. They were the impenetrable veil which
closed ofE from the world and its brutalities this
oasis of forbidden joys.

In the house also she was ever elaborating, sybari-
tising her life. She had a branch telephone fixed at
the head of her bed ; the first time that Cairns used
it to tell his man to bring up his morning coat she
had the peculiar sensation that her bed was in touch
with the world. She could call up anybody, the
Archbishop of Canterbury, the Governor of the Bank
of England or the headquarters of the Salvation Army.
Her bed was the centre of the world. She fitted the
doors of her bedroom and her boudoir with curious
little locks which acted on the pressure of a finger,

_5o A BED OF ROSES

for her mind was turned on delicacies and tlie sharp
click of a bolt, the grating of a key savoured of the
definite, therefore of the coarse. A twist of the knob
between two fingers and the world was silently shut
out.

Now too that she was beautiful once more she
revelled in mirrors. The existing ones in her bed-
room and in the boudoir were not enough ; they were
public, unintimate. She had a high mirror fixed in
the bathroom, so that she could see herself in her
freshness, covered with pearly beads like a naiad.
She rejoiced in her beauty, in her renewed strength ;
she often stood for many minutes in the dim steamy
light of the room, analysing her body, its grace and
youth, with a growing consciousness of latent power.
Then, suddenly, the faint violet streaks of the varicose
veins would intrude upon the rite and she would
wrap herself up jealously in her bath robe so that not
even the mirror should be a confidant of the past.

CHAPTER V

Week after week passed on, and now monotony drew
lier stifling cloak over "Victoria. Cairns was still in a
state of beatitude whicli made him an unexciting
companion ; satisfied in liis egoism it never came into
his mind that Victoria could tire of her life. He spent
many afternoons in the back garden under a rose
covered pergola. By his side was a little table with
a syphon, a decanter of whisky, and a box of cigars ;
he read desultorily, sometimes the latest motor novel,
at other times the improving memoirs of eighteenth
century noblewomen. Now and then he would look
approvingly at A^ictoria in plain white drill, delight-
fully mischievous under a sun-bonnet, and relapse
into his book. Once he quoted ' A flask of wine, a
book of verse . . . . ' and Victoria went into sudden
fits of laughter when she remembered Neville Brown.
The single hackneyed line seemed to link malekind
together.

Cairns was already talking of going away. June
was oppressively hot and he was hankering after some
quiet place where he might do some sea-fishing and
get some golf. He was becoming dangerously fat and
Victoria, foreseeing a long and very cheap holiday,
favoured the idea in every way. They could go up to
Scotland later too, but Cairns rather hesitated about
this, for he neither cared to show off Victoria before
the people he knew on the moors, nor to leaA'e her for
a fortnight. He was paying the penalty of Capua.
His plans were set back, however, by serious trouble

252 A BED OF ROSES

■\vliich liad taken place on his Irish estate, his though
still in the hands of Mannadnke Cairns' executors.
There had been nightriding, cattle driving, some
boycotting. The situation grew so tense that the
executors advised Cairns to sell the estate to the
tenants but the latter declined the terms ; matters
came to a deadlock and it was quite on the cards that
an application might be made under the Irish Land
Bill. It was clear that in this case the terms would
be bad and Cairns was called to Limerick by telegram
as a last chance. He left Victoria, grumbling and
cursing Ireland and all tilings Irish.

Left to herself, Victoria felt rather at a loose end.
The cheerful if uninteresting personality of Major
Cairns had a way of filling the house. He had an
expansive mind ; it was almost chubby. For two
days she rather enjoyed her freedom. The summer
was gorgeous ; St John's Wood was bursting every-
where into flower ; the trees were growing opaque in
the parks. At every street corner little whirlwinds of
dry grit swayed in the hot air. One afternoon
Victoria indulged in the luxury of a hired xorivate
carriage and flaunted it with the best in the long line
on the south side of the Park. Wedged for a c^uarter
of an hoar in the mass she felt a glow come over her.
The horses all round her shone like polished Avood,
the carriage panels were lustrous, the harness was
glittering, the brass burnished ; all the world seemed
to radiate warmth and light. Gaily enough, because
not jaded by repetition, she caused the carriage to do
the Iiing, twice. She felt for a moment that she was
fi-ee, that she could vie with those women whose lazy
detachment she stirred for a moment into curiosity
by her deep eyes, dark piled hair and the audacity
of her diaphanous crepe de cliine.

Cairns was still in Ireland, struggling conscienti-
ously to pile up rinearned increment and Victoria,
thoroughly aimless, suddenly bethought herself of

A BED OF ROSES 253

Farwell. She had been remiss in what was ahnost
a duty. Surely slie ought to report progress to the
man who had helped to open her eyes to the realities
of life. She had misapplied his teaching perhaps,
or rather remoulded it, but still it was his teaching.
Or rather it was what a woman should know, as
opposed to what Thomas Farwell preached ; if men
were to practise that, then she should revise her
philosophy.

At ten minutes to one she entered the Moorgate
Street P.R.R. with a little thrill. Everything
breathed familiarity ; it was like coming home, but
better, for it is sweeter to revisit the place where one
has suffered, when one has emerged, than to brood
with gentle sorrow on the spot, where there once was
joy. She knew every landmark, the tobacconist, the
picture shop, still full of 'Mother's Helps' and of
'artistic' studies of the nude; there was the red
coated bootblack too, as dirt}^ and as keenly solicitous
as ever. The P.R.R. itself did not chill her. In the
crude June sunlight its nickel shone gaily enough.
Everything was as before ; the cakes had been
moulded in the old moulds, and here was the old
bill of fare, unchanged no doubt ; even the marble
topped tables and the half cleaned cruets looked
kindly upon her, but the tesselated red and blue
floor aroused the hateful memory of another Victoria
on her hands and knees, an old sack round her waist,
painfully swaying from right to left, swabbing the
tiles. Little rivulets of water and dirt flowed slowly
across the spectre's hands.

As she went down the steps into the smoking-room
she crossed with the manageress, still buxom and
erect, but she passed unnoticed, for this was the busy
hour when the chief tried to be simultaneously on
three floors. The room was not so full as it had once
been. She sat down at a little table and watched
the familiar scene for some minutes. She told the

254 A BED OF ROSES

girl she would wait a minute for she did not want to
miss Farwell. The world had gone round but
apparently the P.R.R. was the axis. There in the
corner were the chess players ; to-day they only ran
four boards, but at one of them a fierce discussion
was going on as to a variation of the queen's pawn
opening. On the other side of the room were the
young domino players, laughing and smoking
cigarettes. The fat and yellow Levantine was
missing. Victoria regretted him, for the apocalyptic
figure was an essential part of the ugly past. But
there was ' old dry toast ' all alone at his little table.
He had not changed ; his white hair still framed
thickly his beautiful old brown face. There he sat,
still silent and desolate, waiting for the end. Victoria
felt a pang of sorrow. She was not quite hardened
yet and she realised it angrily. There must be no
sympathy and no quarter in her game of life. It was
too late or too soon for that. Victoria let her eyes
stray round the room. There were the young men
and boys or some of the same breed, in their dark
suits, brilliant ties, talking noisily, chaffing one
another, gulping down their small teas and toasted
scones. A conversation between two older men was
wafted in to her ears.

' Awful. Have you tried annelicide ? '
At that moment a short broad figure walked
smai'tly down the steps. It was Thomas FarweU,
a thin red book under his arm. He went straight
through to the old table, propped his book against
the cruet and began to read. Victoria surveyed him
critically. He was thinner than ever ; his hair was
more plentifully sprinkled with grey but had receded
no further. He was quite near her, so she could see
his unbrushed collar and his frayed cuffs. After a
moment the girl came and stood before him ; it was
Nelly, big and raw-boned as ever, handsome still like
the fine beast of burden she was. She wore no apron

A BED OF ROSES 255

now in prond token of lier new position as head
waitress. Now tlie A^oices by her side were talking
holidays.

' No, Ramsgit's good enough forme. Broadstairs
and all these little f)laces, they're so tony — '

Maud passed quickly before Victoria. The poor
little girl was as white as ever ; her flaccid cheeks
danced up and down as she ran. The other voice
was relating at length how its owner had taken his
good lady to Deal. Nelly had left Farwell, walking
more slowly than the other girls, as befitted her
station, Victoria felt herself pluck up a little
courage, crossed the room followed by many admiring
glances and quickly sat down at Farwell's table.
He looked up quickly. The book dropped suddenly
from the cruet.

' Victoria,' he gasped.

'Yes,' she said smiling.

' Well . . .' His eyes ran over her close fitting
tussore dress, her white kid gloves.

'Is that all you've got to say to me?' she asked.
* Won't 3'Ou shake hands ? '

Farwell put out his hand and held hers for a
second. He was smiling now, with just a touch of
wistfulness in his eyes.

' Fm very glad to see you,' he said at length.

'So am I,' said Victoria. 'I hope you don't mind
my coming here, but I only thought of it this
morning.'

' Mind,' snapped Farwell. ' People who imderstand
everything never mind anything.'

Victoria smiled again. The bumptious aphorism
was a sign that Farwell was still himself. For a
minute or so they looked at one another. Victoria
wondered at this man, so powerful intellectually
and physically and yet content to live in his ideals
on a pittance, to do dull work, to be a subordinate.
Truly a caged lion. Farwell, on the other hand, was

256 A BED OF ROSES

looking ill vain for some physical ravages to justify
Victoria's profession, for some gross development at
least. He looked in vain. Instead of the pale dark
girl with large grey eyes whom he had known, he
now saw a healthy and beautiful woman with a clear
white skin, thick hair, red lips.

' Wei],' he said with a laugh, ' can I invite 3'ou to
lunch with me ? '

' You may,' she said. ' I'll have a small coffee and
... a sunny side up.'

Farwell laughed and signed to Nell}^. After a
minute he attracted her attention and gave the order
without Nelly taking any interest in Farwell's guest.
It might be rather extraordinary, but her supervisoiy
duties were all absorbent. When she returned, liow-
ever, she stole a curious look at Victoria while placing
before her the poached egg on toast. She looked at
her again and her eyes dilated.

' Law,' she said, ' Vic ! '

' Yes, Nelly, how are you ? ' Victoria put out her
gloved hand. Nelly took it wonderingly.

'I'm all right,' she answered slowly. 'Just been
made head waitress,' she added with some unction.
Her eyes were roving over Victoria's clothes, valuing
them like an expert.

* Congratulations,' said Victoria, ' Glad you're
getting on.'

' I see you re getting on,' said Nelly, with a touch
of sarcasm.

' So, so, things aren't too bad.' Victoria looked up.
The women's eyes crossed like rapiers ; Nelly's were
full of suspicion. The conversation stopped then,
for Nelly was already in request in half a dozen
quarters.

' She knows,' said Victoria smoothly.

' Of course,' said Farwell. ' Trust a woman to
know the worst about another and to show it up.
Every little helps in a contest such as life.'

A BED OF ROSES 257

Farwell then questioned her as to lier situation but
she refused him all details.

' No,' she said, ' not here. There's Nelly watching
us, and Maud has just been told. Betty's been
shifted, I know, and I suppose Mary and Jennie are
gone, but there's the manageress and some of the
girls upstairs. I've nearly done. Let me return the
invitation. Dine with me to-night . . .' She was
going to say ' at home,' but changed her mind to the
jDrudent course. . . . ' at, well, anpvhere you like.
Whereabouts do you live, Mr Farwell ? '

' I live in the Waterloo Road,' said Fart^"ell, ' an
artery named after the playing fields of Eton.'

'I don't know it well,' said Victoria, 'but I seem
to remember an Italian place near Waterloo Station.
Suppose you meet me at the south end of Waterloo
Bridge at seven ? '

' It will do admirably,' said the man. ' I suppose
you want to go now ? Well, j^ou've put out my
habits but I'll come too.'

They went out ; the last Victoria saw of the P.R.R.
was the face of the cook through the hole in the
partition, red, sweating, -wi-inkled by the heat and
hurry of the day. They parted in the churchyard.
Victoria watched him walk away with his firm swing,
his head erect.

' A man,' she thought, ' too clever to succeed.'

Being now again at a loose end and still feeling
fairly hungry she drove down to Frascati's to lunch.
She was a healthy young animal and scanty fare was
now a novelty. At three o'clock she decided to look
up Betty at her depot in Holborn rnd by great good
luck found that Betty was free at half-past five, as
the Holborn depot, for unknown reasons, kept
shorter hours than Moor gate Street. She whiled
away the intervening time easily enough by shop
gazing and writing a long letter to Cairns on
the hospitable paper of the Grand Hotel. At

258 A BED OF ROSES

half-past live she picked up Betty at the door of
the P.R.R.

' Thank you again so very, very much for the
sweater aud the dressing gown,' said Betty as she
slipped her arm through that of her fi-iend.

' Don't be silly, Betty, I like giving you things.'
Victoria smiled and pressed the girl's arm. ' You're
not looking well, Betty.'

' Oh, I'm all right,' said Betty wearily.

Victoria looked at her again. Under the pretty
waved sandy hair Betty's forehead looked waxen ;
her cheeks were too red. Her arm felt thinner than
ever. What was one to do ? Betty was a weakling
and must go to the wall. But there was a sweetness
in her which no one could resist.

'Look here, Betty,' said Victoria, 'I've got very
little time ; I've got to meet Mr Fanvell at Waterloo
Bridge at seven. It's beautifully fine, let's drive
down to Embankment Gardens and talk.'

Betty's face clouded for a moment at the mention
of Farwell's name. She hated him with the ferocity
of the weak ; he had ruined her friend. But it was
good to have her back. The cab drove down
Chancery Lane at a spanking rate, then across the
Strand and through a lane. The unaccustomed
pleasure and the rush of air brought all her face
into pink unison with her cheeks.

The two women sat side by side for a moment.
This was the second time they had met since Victoria
had entered her new life. There had been a few
letters, the last to thank Victoria for her Christmas
present, but Betty did not say much in them.
Her tradition of virtue had erected a barrier between
them.

' Well, Betty,' said Victoria suddenly, * do you stiU
think me very bad ? '

' Oh, Vic, how can you ? I never, never said
that.

A BED OF ROSES 259

' No, you thought it,' answered Victoria a little
cruelly. ' But never mind, perhaps you're right.'

' I never said so, never thought so,' persisted Bett5\
' You can't do wi'ong, Vic, you're . . . you're
different.'

' Perhaps I am,' said Victoria. ' Perhaps there are
different laws for different people. At any rate I've
made my choice and must abide by it ? '

' .Vnd are you happy, Vic?' Anxiety was in the
girl's face.

'Happy? Oh, happy enough. He's a good sort.'

' Pm so glad. And . . . Vic ... do you think
he'll marry you ? '

* Many me ? ' said Victoria laughing. * You little
goose, of course not. Why should he marry me now
he's got me ? '

This was a new idea for Betty.

' But doesn't he love j^ou ver}^, very much ? '
she asked, her blue eyes gTowing rounder and
rounder.

*I suppose he does in a way,' said A'ictoria. 'But
it doesn't matter. He's very kind to me but he
won't marry me and, honestly, I woiddn't marry
him.'

Betty looked at her amazed and a little shocked.

' But, dear,' she faltered, ' think of what it would
mean ; you ... he and you, you see . . . you're
living like that . . . if he married you . . .'

' Yes, I see,' said Victoria with a slight sneer,
' you mean that I should be an honest woman and
all that? My dear child, j'ou don't imderstand.
Whether he marries me or not it's all the same. So
long as a woman is economically dependent on a
man she's a slave, a plaything. Legally or illegally
joined it's exactly the same thing; the legal bond
has its advantages and its disadvantages and there's
an end of the matter.'

Betty looked away over the Thames ; she did not

26o A BED OF ROSES

understand. Tlie tradition was too strong. Time
went quickly. Betty had no tale to unfold ; tlie
months had passed leaving her doing the same work
for the same wage, living in the same room. Before
her was the horizon on which were outlined two ships ;
' ten hours a day ' and ' eight bob a week.' And
the skyline?

As they parted Victoria made Bett}^ promise to come
and see her. Then they kissed twice, gently and
silently, and Victoria watched her friend's slim figure
fade out of sight as she walked away. She had the
same impression as when she parted with Lottie who
had gone so bravely into the dark. A wave of
melancholy was upon her. Poor girls, they were
without hope ; she at least was viewing life with her
ejes open. She would wrench something out of it
yet. She shook herself ; it was a quarter to seven.

An hour later she was sitting opposite Farwell.
They were getting to the end of dinner. Conversa-
tion had flagged while they disposed of the earlier
courses. Now they were at the ice and coffee stage.
The waiters grew less attentive ; indeed there was
nobody to observe them save the olive skinned boy
with the moumfid eyes who looked at the harbour of
Palermo thi-ough the Waterloo Road door. Farwell
lit the cigar which Victoria forced upon him and leant
back, puffing contentedly.

' Well,' he said at length, ' how do you like the
life?'

'It is better than the old one,' she said.

* Oh, so you've come to that. You have given iip
the absolutes.'

'Yes, I've given them up. A woman like me
has to.'

* Yes, I suppose you've got to,' pondered Farwell.
'But apart from that, is it a success? Are you
attaining your end ? That's the only thing that
matters, you know.'

A BED OF ROSES 261

' 1 am in a sense, I'm saving money. You see,
lie's generous.'

' Excellent, excellent,' sneered Farwell. ' I like to
see you making out of wliat the bourgeois call vice
that which will enable you to conunand bourgeois
respect. By and by I suppose you'll have made
a fortune.'

' Well, no, a competency perhaps, with luck.'
' With luck, as j'ou say. Do you know, Victoria,
this luck business is grand. My firm goes in for
mines : they went prospecting in America twenty
years ago and they happened to strike copper. That
Avas good. Other men struck granite only. That
was bad. But my boss is a City Sheriff now. Fright-
fully rich. There used to be four of them, but one
died of copper poisoning, and another was found shot
in a gulch. Nobody knows how it happened but the
other two got the mines.'

Victoria smiled. She liked this piratical tit bit.
' Yes,' she said, ' luck's the thing. And merit . . .
well I suppose the surviving partners had merit.'

' Anyhow, I wish you luck,' said Farwell. ' But
tell me more. Do you find you've paid too high a
price for what you've got? '
' Too high a price ? '

' Yes. Do you have any of that remorse we read
about ; would you like to be what you were, unattached
you know . . . eligible for Yoimg Women's Chi'istian
Associations ? '

' Oh, no,' Victoria laughed. 'I can't pay too high
a price for what I think I'll get. I don't mean these
jewels or these clothes, that's only my professional
uniform. When I've served my time I shall get that
for which no woman can pay too much : I shall be
economically independent, free.'

' Free.' Farwell looked towards the ceiling through
a cloudlet of smoke. ' Yes, you're right. XVith the
world as it is it's the only way. To be independent

262 A BED OF ROSES

you must acquire the right to be dependent on the
world's laboui-, to be a drone . . . and the biggest
drone is queen of the hive. Yet I wish it had been
otherwise with you.' He looked at her regretfuU}-.

Victoria toyed with a dessert knife.

' Why ? ' she asked.

' Oh, you had possibilities . . . but after all, we all
have. And most of them turn out to be impossibilities.
At any rate, you're not disgusted with your hfe, with
any detail ? '

' No, I don't think so. I don't say I'll go on any
longer than I need but it's bearable. But even if
it were repulsive in every way I'd go on if I saw
freedom ahead. If I fight at all I fight to a
finish.'

' You're strong,' said Farwell looking at her. ' I
wish I had your strength. You've got that force
which makes explorers, founders of new faiths,
prophets, company promoters.' He sighed.

' Let's go,' he added, ' we can talk in the warm
night.'

For an hour they talked, agreeing always in the
end. Farwell was cruelly conscious of two wasted
lives, his, because his principles and his capacity for
thought had no counterweight in a capacity for action,
Victoria's, because of her splendid gifts ignobly
wasted and misused by a world which had asked her
for the least of them.

Victoria felt a peculiar pleasure in this man's
society. He was elderly, ugly, ill-clad ; sometimes he
was boorish, but a halo of thought surrounded him
and the least of his words seemed precious. All this
devirilised liim, deprived him of physical attractive-
ness. She could not imagine herself receiving and
returning his caresses. They parted on Waterloo
Bridge.

'Good-bye,' said Farwell, 'you're on the right
track. The time hasn't come for us to keep the law,

A BED OF ROSES 263

for we don't know what tlie law is. All we have is
the edict of the powerful, the prejudice of the fool ;
the last especially, for these gaoled souls have their
traditions, and their convictions are prisons all.'

Victoria pressed his hand and turned away. She
did not look back. If she had she would have seen
Farwell looking into the Thames, his face lit up by a
gas lamp, curiously speculative in expression. His
emotions were not warring, but the chaos in his
brain was such that he was fighting the logical case
for and against an attempt to find enlightenment on
the other slope of the valley.

CIL\PTER \1

Victoria stretched herself lazily in bed. Her eyes
took in a picture of Cairns on the mantlepiece framed
between a bottle of eau de cologne and the carriage
clock ; then, little by little, she analysed details,
small objects, powderpnffs, a Chelsea candlestick, an
open letter, the wall paper. She closed her eyes
again and buried her face in the pillow. The lace
edge tickled her ear pleasantly. She snuggled like a
stroked cat. Then she awoke again, for Mary had
just placed her early cup of tea on the night table.
The tray seemed to come down with a crash, a spoon
fell on the carpet. Victoria felt daylight rolling
back sleep from her brain while Mary pidled up the
blinds. As light flooded the room and her senses
became keener she heard the blinds clash.

* You're very noisy, Mary,' she said, lifting herself
on one elbow.

The girl came back to the bed her hands folded
together.

' I'm sorry, mum . . . T . . . I've . . .'

* Yes ? what's the matter ? '

Mary did not answer but Victoria could see she
was disturbed. Her cap was cUsarranged ; it inclined
perliaps five degrees from the vertical. There was a
faint flush on her cheeks.

' What's the matter ? ' said Victoria sharply. ' Is
there anything wrong? '

' No, mum. . . . Yes mum. . . . They say in the
paper. . . . There's been trouble in Ireland, nmm. . . .'

264

A BED OF ROSES 265

'In Ireland?' Victoria sat bolt upright. Her
heart gave a great bang and then began to go with a
whirr.

'At Rossbantiy, mum . . . last night . . . he's
shot. . . .'

' Shot ? Who ? can't you speak ? '

' The Major, mum.'

Mary unfolded her hands suddenly and drew them
up and down her apron as if trying to dry them.
Victoria sat as if frozen, looking at her wide-eyed.
Then she relapsed on the pillow. Everything swam
for a second, then she felt Mary raising her head.

' Go away,' whispered Victoria. ' Leave me for a
minute. I'm all right.'

Mary hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, softly
closing the door. Victoria lay staring at the ceiling.
Cairns was dead, shot. Awful. A week ago his
heavy frame was outlined under these A^ery blankets.
She shuddered. But why, how? It wasn't true, it
couldn't be true. She sat up as if imjielled by a
spring and rang the bell violently. The l^roken rope
fell on her face in a coil. With iDoth hands she seized
her chin as if to stop a scream.

' The paper, get me the paper,' she gasped as Mary
c>ame in. The girl hesitated. Victoria's face
frightened her. Victoria looked at her straight and
she ran out of the room. In another minute she had
laid the open paper before her mistress.

Victoria clutched at it with both hands. It was
true. True. It was true. The headlines were all
she could see. She tried to read the text but the
letters danced. She returned to the headlines.

Shocking Outrage in Ireland

Landlord Shot

In the next column : —

M. C. C.'s Hard Task

.66 A BED OF ROSES

Her heart's action was less violent now. She under-
stood ; every second increased her lucidity. Shot.
Cairns was shot. Oh, she knew, he had carried strife
with him and some tenant had had his revenge. She
took up the paper and could read it now. Cairns had
refused to make terms and, on the morning of his
death, had served notices of eviction on eighteen
cottagers. The same night he was sitting at a
window of his bailiff's house. Then two shots fi-om
the other side of the road, another from lower down.
Cairns was wounded twice, in the lung and tliroat,
and died within twenty minutes. A man was under
arrest.

Victoria put down the paper. Her mind was quite
clear again. Poor old Tom. She felt sorry but above
all disturbed ; every nerve in her body seemed raw.
Poor old Tom, a good fellow. He had been kind to
her and now, there he was. Dead, when he was
thinking of coming back to her. He would never
see her again, the little house, the things he loved.
Yes, he had been kind ; he had saved her from that
awful life . . . Victoria's thoughts turned into
another channel. What was going to become of her.

' Old girl,' she said aloud, ' you're in the cart.'

She realised that she was again adrift, alone, face
to face with the terrible world. Cairns was gone ;
there was nobody to protect her against the buffeting
waves. A milkman's cart rattled by ; she could hear
the distant rumble of the Underground, a snatch
carried by the wind from a German band. Well,
the time had come ; it had to come. She could not
have held Cairns for ever and now she had to prove
lier mettle, to show whether she had learned enough
of the world, whether she had grit. The thought
struck cold at her, but an intimate counseller in her
brain was already awake and ciying out :

' Yes, yes, go on, you can do it yet.'

Victoria threw down the paper and jumped out

A BED OF ROSES 267

of bed. She dressed feverishly in the clothes and
linen she had thrown in a heap on a chair the night
before, twisting her hair up into a rough coil. Just
before leaving the room she remembered she had
not even washed her hands. She did so hurriedly ;
then, seeing the cold cup of tea, drank it off at a
gulp ; her throat felt parched.

She pushed back the untasted dish on the breakfast
table. Her head between her hands she tried to
think. At intervals she poured out ciips of tea and
drank them off quickly.

Snoo and Poo, after vainly trying to induce her
to play with them, lay in a heap in an armchair
snuffling as they slept.

The better she realised her position the greater
grew her fears. Once more she was the cork tossed
in the stomi and yet, mdderless, she must navigate
into the harbour of liberty. If Cairns had lived and
she had seen her power over him wane she would have
taken steps, she did not know what steps but felt she
surely would have done something. But Cairns was
dead ; in twenty minutes she had passed fi'om com-
parative security into the region where thorns are
many and roses few.

Poor old Tom. She felt a tiny pang ; surelj^ this
concern with herself when his body still lay unburied
was selfish, ugly. But, pooh, why make any bones^
about it? As Cairns had said himself he liked to
see her beautiful, happy, well clad. His gifts to her
were gifts to himself : she was merely his vicar.

Victoria drank some more cold tea. Good or bad,
Cairns belonged to the past and the past has na
virtues. None, at any rate, for those whose present
is a wind swept table-land. Men nmst come and go,
drink to the full of the cup and pa}^ richly for eveiy
sip, so that she might be fi-ee, hold it no longer to
their lips. There was no time to waste, for already
she was some hours older, some of those hours which

268 A BED OF ROSES

miglit have been tranemuted into gold, that saving
gold. She must take steps.

The ' steps to be taken,' a comforting sentence,
were not easy to evolve. But another comforting
catchword, ' revicAving the situation,' saved her from
perplexity. She went into the little boudoir and took
out her two pass books. The balance seemed agree-
ably fat but she did not allow herself to be deluded ;
she checked off the debit side with the foils of her
<'heque book and found that two of the cheques had
not been presented. These she deducted, but the
result was not unsatisfactory ; she had exactly three
hundred pounds in one bank and a few sliillings
over fifty pounds in the other. Three hundred and
fifty pounds. Not so bad. She had done pretty well
in these nine months. Of course that banker's order
of Cairns would be stopped. She could hardly expect
the executors to allow it to stand. Thus her capital
was tliree hundred and fifty pounds. And there was
jewellery too, worth a couple of hundred pounds
perhaps, and lace, and furs. The jewellery might
come in handy ; it could be ' gophirised.' The
furniture wasn't bad either.

Of course she must go on with the house. It was
no great responsibility, being held on a yearly agree-
ment. Victoria then looked through her accounts ;
they did not amount to much, for Barbezan Soeurs,
though willing to assist in extracting money by means
of bogus invoices, made it a rule to demand cash for
genuine purchases. Twenty pounds would cover all
the small accounts. The rent was all right as it
would not be due imtil the end of September. The
rates were all right too, being payable every half
year ; they could be ignored until the blue notice
came, just before Christmas.

Victoria felt considerably strengthened by this
investigation. At a pinch she could live a year on
the present footing, during which something must

A BED OF ROSES 269

turn up. She tried to consider for a moment tlie
various tilings that might turn up. None occurred
to her. vShe settled the dilliculty b}'- going upstairs
again to dress. When she rang for Mary to do her
hair, the girl was surprised to find her mistress
perfectly cool. Without a word, however, Mary
restored her hair to order. It was a beautiful, and
elegant woman, perhaps a trifle pale and open
mouthed, who, some minutes later, set out to walk
to Regent's Park.

Victoria sat back in her chair. Peace was upon
her soul. Perhai)s she had just passed through
a crisis, perhaps she was entering upon one, but
what did it matter? The warmth of July was in
the clear air, the canal slowly carried past her its
fdm of dust. No sound broke through the morning
save the cries of little boys fishing for invisible fishes
and, occasionally, a raucous roar from some prisoner
in the Zoo. Now that she had received the blow and
was recovering she was conscious of a curious feeling
of lightness ; she felt fi-eer than the day before.
Then she was a man's property, tied to him by the
bond of interest ; now she was able to do what she
chose, know whom she chose, so long as that money
lasted. Ail, it would be good one day when she had
enough money to be able to look the future in the
face and flaunt in its forbidding countenance the
fact that she was free, for ever free.

Victoria was no longer a dreamer ; she was a
woman of action. The natural sequence of her
thoughts brought her up at once against the means
to the triumphant end. Three hundred and fifty
j)Ouiids, say six hundred if she realised everything,
would not yield enough to feed a superannuated
governess. She would need quite eight or ten
thousand pounds before she could call herself free
and live her dreams.

*ril earn it,' she said aloud, 'yes, sure enough.'

270 A BED OF ROSES

A little Aberdeen terrier came bounding np to
her, licked her hand, and ran away after his master.
A friendly omen. Six hundred pounds was a large
Bum in a way. She could aspire to a partnership in
some business now. A vision arose before her :
Victoria Ferris, milliner. The vision grew : Victoria
Ferris and Co., Limited., wholesalers ; then Ferris'
Stores, for clothes and boots and cheese and phono-
graphs, with a branch of Cook's agency, a Keith
Prowse ticket office ; Ferris' Stores as an octopus,
with its body in Knightsbridge and a tentacle hovering
over every draper from Richmond to Highgate.

Yes, that was all very well, but what if Victoria
Ferris failed? 'No good,' she thought, 'I can't
afford to take risks.' Of course the idea of seeking
employment was absurd. No more ten hours a day
for eight bob a week for her. Besides no continuous
references and a game leg . . . The situations
crowded into and out of Victoria's brain like dis-
solving views. She could see herself in the little
house, with another man, with other men, young
men, old men ; and every one of them was rocked
in the lap of Delilah who laughingly shore off their
golden locks.

' By Jove,' she said aloud, bringing her gloved fist
down on her knee, ' I'll do it.'

Of com-se the old life could not begin again just
now. She did not know a man in London who was
worth capturing. She must go down into the market,
stand against the wall as a courtesan of Alexandria
and nail a wreath of roses against the highest bid.
The vision she saw was now no longer the octopus.
She saw a street with its pavements wet and slithering,
flares, barrows laden with greens; she could smell
frying fish, rotting vegetables, burning naphtha ; a
hand opened the door of a bar and, in the glare, she
could see two women with vivid hair, tired eyes,
smiling mouths, each one patiently waiting before a

A BED OF ROSES 271

little table and an empty glass. Then she saw once
more the courtesan of Alexandria, dim in the night,
not lit up by the sun of sweet Egypt, but clad in
mercerised cotton and rabbit's fur, standing, watching
like a shadow against a shop door in Regent Street.

No, she had not come to that. She belonged to the
upper stratum of the profession and, knowing it,
could not sink. Consciousness was the thing. She
was not going into this fight soft handed or soft
hearted. She knew. There was high adventure in
store for her yet. If she must fish it should be for
trout not chubb. Like a wise woman she would not
love lightly but where money is. There should be
no waiting, no hesitating. That very night she
would sup at the Hotel Vesuvius ... all in black
. . . like an ivory Madonna set in ebony . . . with
a tea rose in her hair as a foil to her shoulders . . .
and sweeping jade earrings which would swim like
butterflies in the heavy air. All, it would be high
adventure when Demetrius knelt at the feet of
Aphrodite with jewels in his sunburnt palm, when
Croesus bargained away for a smile a half of his
Lydian wealth.

She got up, a glow in her veins as if the lust of
battle was upon her. Quickly she walked out of the
park to conquer the town. A few yards beyond the
gates newspaper placards shouted the sensation of the
day, placards pink, brown, green all telling the tale
of murder, advertising for a penny the transitory joy
of the fact. Victoria smiled and walked on. She let
herself into the house. It was on the stroke of one.
She sat down at the table, pressing the bell down with
her foot.

' Hurry up, Mary,' she said, ' I'm as himgry as a
hunter.'

A voice floated through the window like an echo :
' Irish murder ; latest details.'

' Shut the window, Mary,' she said sharply.

CHAPTER Vn

The Hotel Vesuvius is a singular place. It stands on
the north side of Piccadilly and, for the general, its
stuccoed fi'ont and severe sash windows breathe an
air of early Victorian respectability. Probably it was
once a ducal mansion, for it has all the necessary
ugliness, solidity and size ; now it is the most remark-
able instance of what can be done by a proprietor
who remembers that an address in Piccadilly exempts
liim from the rules which govern Bloomsbury. One
enters it thi'ough a small hall, all alight with white
and gold paint. Right and left are the saloon bar
and the buffet ; this enables the customer to select
either without altering the character of his accom-
modation while assuming superiority for a judicious
choice. A broad straight staircase leads up to the
big supper room on the first floor. Above are a score
of private dining-rooms.

Victoria jumped out of the cab and walked up the
steps, handing the liveried commissionare two shillings
to pay the cabman. This was an inspiration calculated
to set her down at once with the staff as one who knew
the ropes. In the white and gold hall she halted for
a moment, puzzled and rather nervous. She had
never set foot in the Vesu\aus ; she had never heard
it mentioned without a smile or a wink. Now, a little
flushed and her heart beating, she realised that she
did not know her way about.

Victoria need have had no fears. Before she had time
to take in the scene a tall man with a perfectly groomed

272

A BED OF ROSES 273

head and a well fitting evening dress bowed low
before her.

' Madame wishes no doubt to deposit her wrap,' he
said in gentle tones. His teeth flashed white for a
moment.

' Yes,' said Victoria, . . . ' Yes, where is the cloak
room ? '

' This way, madame. If madame will permit
me. . . .' He pointed towards the end of the hall
and preceded her steps. An elderly woman behind
the coimter received Victoria's wrap and handed her
a brass token without looking at her. While she
pulled up her gloves she looked round curiously.
The cloak room was small ; behind the counter the
Avails were covered by a mahogany rack with some
hundred pigeon-holes. The fiercer light of an un-
shaded chandelier beat down upon the centre of the
room. A^ictoria was conscious of an extraordinary
atmosphere, a blend of many scents, tobacco smoke,
leather ; most of the pigeon-holes were bursting with
colom-ed \vraps, many of them vivid blue or red ;
here and there long veils, soiled white gloves hung
out of them ; a purple ostrich feather hung from an
immense black hat over a white and silver Cingalese
shawl. Victoria tm-ned sharply. The man was
inspecting her coolly with an air of intentness that
showed approval.

' Where does madame wish to go ? ' he asked as they
entered the hall. ' In the buffet perhaps ? '

He opened the door. Victoria saw for a second a
long counter laden with bottles, at which stood a group
of men, some in evening dress, some in tweed suits ;
she saw a few women among them, all with smiles
upon their faces. Behind the counter she had time
to see the barmaid, a beautiful girl with dark eyes
and vivid yeUow hair.

' No, not there,' she said quickly. It reminded her
of the terrible Httle bar of which Farwell had given

2 74 A BED OF ROSES

her a glimpse, ' You are the manager, I believe . . .

I want to go up into the supper room.'

' Certainly, madame ; will madame come this

way?'

The manager preceded her up to the first floor.

On the landing, two men in tweeds suddenly stopped

talking as she passed. A porter flimg the glazed

door open. A short man in evening dress looked at

her, then at the manager. After a second's hesitation

the two men in tweeds followed her in.

The manager put his hands in his pockets,

walked up to the other man and nodded towards the

door.

' Pas mal, hein? '

' Epatante,' said the short man. ' Da chic. Et une
jjeau!'

The manager smiled and turned to go downstairs.
* Surveillez-vioi qa Anatole,' he said.

Victoria, meanwhile, had stopped for a moment on
the threshold, a little dazed by the scene. Though
it was only half-past ten the eighty tables of the
Vesuvius were almost every one occupied ; the crowd
looked at first like a patchwork quilt. The room
was all white and gold like the hall ; a soft radiance
fell from the lights hidden in the cornice ; two heavy
chandeliers with faintly pink electric bulbs and a few
pink shaded lights on the table diffused a roseate
glow over the scene. Victoria felt like an intruder
and her discomfiture was heightened by the gripping
hot perfume. But already a waiter was by her side ;
she let liim be her pilot. In a few seconds she found
herself sitting at a small table alone, near the middle
of the room. The waiter reappeared almost at once
carrying on a tray a liqueur glass containing some
colourless fluid. She had ordered nothing but his
adroitness relieved her. Clearly the expert had
diAnned her inexperience and had resolved to smooth
her way.

A BED OF ROSES 275

She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped at it.
It was good stuff, rather strong. The burn on her
palate seemed to brace her ; she looked round the
room. It was a peculiar scene, for the Vesuvius is
a luxurious place and a proAdncial might well be
excused for thinking it was the Carlton or the Savoy ;
indeed there was something more outwardly opulent
about it. It suggested a place where men not only
spent what they had but spent more. But for a few
men in frock-coats and tweeds it would have been
ahnost undistinguishable fi'om the recognised resorts
of fashion. Victoria took stock of her suiTOundings,
of the shining plate and glass, the heavy red carpet,
the red and gold curtains, drawn but fluttering at
the open windows. The guests, however, interested
her more. At half the tables sat a woman and a
man, at others a woman alone before a little glass.
What stiTTck her above all was the beauty of the
women, the wealth they carried on their bodies.
Hardly one of them seemed over thirty ; most of them
had golden or vivid red hair, though a few tables off
Victoria could see a taU woman of colour with black
hair stiffened by wax and pierced with massive ivory
combs. They mostly wore low-necked dresses, many
of them white or faintly tinted with blue or pink.
She could see a dark Italian-looking girl in scarlet from
whose ears long coral earrings drooped to her slim
cream-coloiu'ed shoulders. There was an enormously
stout woman ^vith puffy pink cheeks, strapped tightly
into a white silk costume, looking like a rose at the
height of its bloom. There were others, too, short
dark women with tight hair and minxish French
faces, little shrewd dark eyes, and florid Dutch and
Belgian women with massive busts and splendid
shoulders, dazzlingly white, English girls too, most
of them slim with long arms and rosy elbows and
faintly outlined collar bones. Many of these had the
aristocratic nonchalance of ' art ' photogi'aphs.

276 A BED OF ROSES

Opposite Victoria, under the other chandelier, a
splendid creature, white as a lily, with flashing green
ej'es, copper coloured hair, had thrown herseK back
in her armchair and was laughing at a man's joke.
Her head was bent back and, as she laughed, her
splendid bust rose and fell and her thi'oat filled
out. An elderly man with a close clipped grey
moustache, inmiaculate in his well-cut dress clothes,
leaned towards her with a smile on his brown
face.

Victoria turned her eyes away from the man, a
soldier, of course, and looked at the others. They,
too, were a mixed collection. There were a good
many j^ouths, all clean shaven and mostl}^ well-
groomed ; these talked loudly to their partners and
seemed to fill the latter with merriment ; now and
then they stared at other women with the boldness of
the sh}'. There were elderly men too, a few in frock
coats in spite of the heat, some verj^ stout and red,
some bald and others half concealing their scalps
under cunning hair arrangements. The elderly men
sat mostly with two women, some with tlu'ee and lay
back smiling like coiu'ted pachas. By far the greater
number of the guests, however, were anj'thing
between thirt}' and iortj and seemed to cover every
type fi'om the smart young captain with the tanned
face, bold blue eyes and a bristly moustache to
ponderous men in tweeds or blue reefer jackets who
looked about them with a mixture of nervousness and
bovine stolidity.

From every corner came a steady stieam of loud
talk ; continually little shrieks of laughter pierced
the din and then were smothered by the rattling of
the plates. The waiters flitted ghostly through the
room with incredible speed, balancing high their
silver trays. Then Victoria became conscious that
most of the women round her were looking at her ;
|vA for a moment she felt her personality shrivel up under

A BED OF ROSES 277

their gaze. They were analysing her, speculating as
to the potentialities of a new rival, stripping ofE her
clothes too and her jewels. It was horrible because
their look was more incisive than the merely brutal
glance by which a man takes stock of a woman's
charms.

She pulled herself together however, and forced
herself to return the stares. ' After all,' she thought,
' tliis is the baptism of fire.' She felt strengthened
too as she observed her rivals more closely. Beautiful
as most of them seemed at first sight, many of them
showed signs of wear. With joyfid cruelty V ictoria
noted here and there faint wrinkles near their ej-es,
relaxed mouths, cheekbones on which rosacia had
already set its mark. She could not see more than
half a dozen whose beauty equalled hers ; she threw
her head up and drew back her shoulders. In the
full light of the chandelier she looked down at the
firm white shapeliness of her arms.

' Well, how goes it ? '

Victoria started and looked up from her contempla-
tion. A man had sat down at her table. He seemed
about thirty, fairish, with a rather ragged moustache.
He wore a black morning coat and a grey tie. His
hands and wrists were well kept and emerged from
pale blue cuffs. There was a not unkindly smile
upon his face. His tip tilted nose gave him a cheer-
ful, rather impertinent expression.

' Oh, I'm all right,' said Victoria vaguely. Then
with an affectation of ease. * Hot, isn't it ? '

' Ra-ther,' said the man. ' Had your supper ? '

' No,' said Victoria, ' I don't w^ant any.'

' Now, come, really that's too bad of you. Thought
we were going to have a nice little family party and
you're off your feed.'

'I'm soriy,' said Victoria smiling, 'I had dinner
only two hours ago.' This man was not very attrac-
tive ; there was something forced in his ease.

27S A BED OF ROSES

' Well, have a driiilv with me,' he said.

'What's j-oiirs?' asked Victoria. That was an
inspiration. The plunge braced her like a cold bath.
The man laughed.

' Pop, of course. Unless j^ou prefer a Pernot. You
know ' " absinthe makes the . . . " ' He stopped and
laughed again. Victoria did likewise without
understanding him. She saw that the other women
laughed when men did.

They filled their glasses. Victoria liked champagne.
She watched the little bubbles rise and drank the glass
do^vn. It was soft and warm. How strong she felt
suddenly. The conversation did not flag. The man
was leaning towards her across the table, talking
quickly. He punctuated every joke with a high laugh.

' Oh, I say, give us a chance,' floated from the next
table. Victoria looked. It was one of the English
girls. She was propped ujd on one elbow on the
table ; her legs were crossed showing a long slim
limb and slender ankle in a white open work stocking.
A man in evening dress with a foreign looking dark
face was caressing her bare arm.

* Penny for your thoughts,' said Victoria's man.

' Wasn't thinking,' she said. ' I was looking.'

' Looking? are 5''ou new here ? '

' Yes, it's the first time I've come.'

' By Jove ! It must be an eye-opener.' He
laughed.

' It is rather. It doesn't seem half bad.'

' You're right there. I'm an old stager.' A slightly
complacent expression came over his face. He filled
up the glasses. 'You don't spoil the collection, joii
know,' he added. ' You're a bit of all right.' He
looked at her app)rovingl3\

'Am I?' She looked at him demurely. Then,
plunging once more, ' I hope you'll still think so by
and b}-.' The man's eyes dwelled for a moment on
her face and neck, his breath became audible

I

A BED OF ROSES 279

suddenly. She felt his foot softly stroke hers. He
drew his napkin across his lips.

'Well,' he said with an assimiption of ease, 'shall
Are go ? '

' I don't mind,' said Victoria getting up.

It was with a beating heart that Victoria climbed
into the cab. As soon as he got in the man put his
arm round her waist and drew her to him. She
resisted gently but gave way as his arm grew more
insistent.

' Coy little puss.' His face was very near her up-
turned eyes. She felt it come nearer. Then,
suddenly, he kissed her on the lips. She wanted to
struggle ; she was a little frightened. The lights of
Piccadilly filled her with shame. They spoke very-
little. The man held her close to him. As the cab
rattled through Portland Place, he seized her once
more. She fought down the repulsion with which
his breath inspired ; it was scented with strong cigars
and champagne. Victoriously she coiled one arai
round his neck and kissed him on the mouth. In her
disgust there was a blend of triimiph ; not even her
own feelings could resist her will.

As she waited on the doorstep while he paid the
cabman a great fear came upon her. She did not
know this man. Who was he? Perhaps a thief.
She suddenly remembered that women of her kind
were sometimes murdered for the sake of their
jewellery. As the man turned to come up tlie stept
she pulled herself together. ' After all,' she thought,
' it's only professional risk.'

They stood for a moment in the hall of the silent
house. She felt awkward. The man looked at her
and mistook her hesitation.

* It's all right,' he faltered. He looked about him,
then, qiiickly whipping out a sovereign purse, he drew
out two sovereigns with a click and laid them on the
hall table.

2So A BED OF ROSES

* You see,' he said ' . . . a girl like you. . . .
three more to-morrow moiiiing .... I'm square
you know.'

Victoria smiled and, after a second's hesitation,
picked up the money.

' So'm I,' she said. Then she switched on the light
and pointed upstairs.

CHAPTER VIII

Victoria's new career did not develop on unkindly
lines. Every niglit she went to the Vesuvius where
she soon had her appointed place full under one of the
big chandehers. She secured this spot without
difficulty for most of her rivals were too wise to
affront the glare; as soon as she realised this she
rather revelled in her sense of power, for she now
lived in a world where the only form of power was
beauty. She felt sure of her beauty now she had
compared it minutely with the charms of the preferred
women. She was finer, she had more breed. Almost
every one of those women showed a trace of coarse-
ness, a square jaw, not moulded in big bone like hers
but swathed in hea\^ flesh, a thick ankle or wrist,
spatulate fingertips, red ears. Her pride was in the
courage with which she welcomed the flow of the
light on her neck and shoulders ; round her chandelier
the tables formed practically into circles, the nearest
being occupied by the very young and venturesome,
a few by the oldest who desperately clung to their
illusion of inm;iortal youth ; then came the undecided,
those who are between ages, who wear thick veils and
sit with their backs to the light ; the outer fringe
was made up of those who remembered. Their smiles
were hard and fixed.

She was fortunate enough too. She never had to
sit long in fi'ont of the little glass which she dis-
covered to be kummel ; the waiter always brought it
unasked. Sometimes they would chat for a moment.

282 A BED OF ROSES

for Victoria was assimilating the lazy familiarity of
her surroundings. He talked about the weather, the
latest tips for Goodwood, the misfortune of Camille
de Valenciennes who had gone off to Carlsbad with a
barber who said he was a Russian prince and had left
her there stranded.

Her experiences piled up and, after a few weeks
she found she had exliausted most of the types who
frequented the Vesuvius. ]\rost of them were of ttie
gawky kind, being very young men out for the night
and desperately anxious to get off on the quiet by
three o'clock in the morning ; of the gawky kind too
were the Manchester merchants paying a brief visit
to town on business and who wanted a peep into
the inferno ; these were easily dealt with and, if
properly primed with champa.gne, exceedingly
generous. Now and then Victoria was confronted
with a racier type which tended to become rather
brutal. It was recruited largely from ob^'iously
married men whose desires, dammed and sterilised
by monotonous relations, seemed suddenly to burst
their bonds.

In a few weeks her resources developed exceedingly.
She learned the scientific look that awakes a man's
interest : a droop of the eyelid followed by a slow
raising of it, a dilation of the pupil, then again a
demure droop and the suspicion of a smile. She
learned to prime herself from the papers with the
proper conversation, racing, the latest divorce news,
ragging scandals, maiTiages of the peerage into the
chorus. She learned to laugh at chestnuts and to
memorise such stories as sounded fresh ; a few
judicious matinees put her up to date as to the latest
musical comedies. On the whole it was an easy life
enough. Six hours in the twenty-four seeme<'l
sufficient to afford her a good livelihood and she did
not doubt that by degrees, she would make herself a
connection which might be turned to gi'eater advan-

A BED OF ROSES 285

tage ; as it was she had two faithful admirers whom
she could count on once a week.

The life itself often struck her as horrible, foul ;
still she was getting inured to tlie inane and could
listen to it with a tolerant smile ; sometimes she
looked dispassionately into men's fevered ej^es with
a little wonder and an immense satisfaction in her
power and the value of her beauty. Sometimes a
thrill of hatred went through her and she loathed
those whose toy she was; then she felt tempted to
drink, to dinigs, to anything that would deaden the
nausea, but she would rally : that first night, when
she had drunk deep of champagne after the kummel
had given her a racking headache and suggested
that beauty does not thrive on mixed drinks.

Another painful moment had been the third day
after her new departure. It seemed to force realisa-
tion upon her. Tacitly the early cup of tea had been
stopped. Mary now never came to the door, but
breakfast was laid for two in the dming-room at half
past nine ; the hot course stood on a chafing dish
over a tiny flame ; the teapot was stocked and a kettle
boiled on its own stand. Neither of the serv^ants-
ever appeared. On the third day, however, as
Victoria lay in her boudoir, reading, preparatory to
ringing the cook to give her orders for the day, there
was a knock at the door.

* Come in,' said Victoria a little ner^'ously. She
was still in the mood of feeling awkward before her
servants.

^iary came in. For a moment she tugged at
her belt. There was a slight flush on her sallow
face.

* Well Mary ? ' asked Victoria, still nervous.

'If 5'ou please, miun, may I speak to you? I've
been talking to cook, mum, and — '
' And ? '
' Oh, mum, I hope you won't think it's because

284 A BED OF ROSES

we're giving ourselves airs but it isn't the same as it
was here loefore, mum — '

' Well ? '

' Well, mum, we think we'd rather go mum.
There's my young man, mum, and — and — '

' And he doesn't like your being associated with a
woman of my kind? Veiy right and proper.'

' Oh, mum, I don't mean that. You've always
been kind to me. Cook too, she says she feels it
very much, mum. When the Major was alive, m.um,
it was different. It didn't seem to matter then, mum,
but now — '

Mary stopped. For a moment the eyes behind the
glasses looked as if they were going to cry.

' Don't trouble to explain, Mary,' said her mistress
with some asperity. ' I understand. You and cook
can't afford to jeopardise your characters. From the
dizzy heights of trained domesticity, experts in your
OAvn line, joxi are justified in looking down upon an
unskilled labourer. I have no doubt that you have
considered the social problem in all its aspects, that
you fully realise the possibilities of a woman wage
earner and her future. By all means go where your
moral sense calls you : I shall give you an excellent
character and demand none in excliange. There,
I don't want to hurt your feelings, Mary, I spoke
hastily,' she added as the maid's features contracted,
' you only do this to please your young man ; that is
woman's profession and I of all people must approve
of what 3'ou do. If you don't mind, both of you, you
will leave on Saturday. You shall have your full
month and a month's board allowance. Now send
up cook, I want to order lunch.'

She coidd almost have wept as she lay with her
face in the cushion. Iler servants had delivered
an ultimatum from womankind, and lack of supplies
compelled her to pick up the gage of battle. Mary
und cook were links between her and all those women

A BED OF ROSES 2S5

who shelter behind one man only, and from that
vantage ground hurl stones at their sisters beyond tLe
gates. The significance of it was not that their
services were lost to her, but that she must now be
content to associate with another class. Soon, how-
ever, her will was again supreme. * After all,' she
thought, ' I have done with Society. I'm a pirate ;
Society '11 be keen enough when I've won.'

Within three days she had readjusted her house-
hold. She had decided to make matters easy by
engaging two Cierman girls. Laura, the cook, said at
once that it was all one to her who came to the house
and who didn't, so long as they left her alone in the
kitchen, and provided she might bring her large tabby
cat. Augusta the maid, a tall lanky girl with strong
peasant hands and carroty hair declared herself
willing to oblige the herrschaft in any way ; she
thereupon demanded an increase on the wages
scheduled for her at the registry office. She also
confided to her new mistress that she had a kerl in
Germany, and that she would do anything to earn
her do^vry.

Thus the establishment settled down again. Laura
cooked excellently, Augusta never flinched when
bringing in the tea tray. Her big blue Saxon eyes
seemed to allow everything to pass tlirough them
leaving her mind unsoiled, so armoured was her heart
by the thought of that dowr^^ As for Snoo and Poo
they chased the tabby cat all over the house most of
the day, which very soon improved their figures.

Thus the even tenoiu- of Victoria's life continued.
She was quite a popular favourite. As soon as she
sat down under the chandelier half-a-dozen men were
looking at her. Sometimes men followed her into the
Vesuvius but these she seldom encouraged, for her
instinct told her that so beautiful a woman as she was
should set a high price on herself, and high prices
were not to be found in Piccadilly. Among her

286 A BED OF ROSES

faithful was a baclielor of forty, whom she only knew
as Charlie. This, by the way, was a characteristic of
her acquaintances. She never discovered their
names ; some in fact were so guarded that they had
apparently discarded their watches before coming out
so as to conceal even their initials. None ever showed
a pocketbook. Charlie was dark and burned by the
sun of the tropics ; there was something bluff and
good-natm'ed about him, great strength too. He had
sharp grey eyes and a dark moustache. He spoke
extraordinarily fast, talked loosely of places he had
been to, China, Mozambique, South Am.erica.
Victoria rather liked him ; he was totally dull,
inclined to be coarse, but as he invariably drank far
too much before and when he came to the Vesuvius,
he made no demands on her patience, slept like a log
and went early, leaving handsome recognition behind
him.

There was Jim too, a precise top-hatted City clerk
wlio had forced himself on her one Saturday afternoon
as she crossed Piccadilly Circus. He seemed such
a pattern of rectitude, was so perfectly trim and
brushed that she allowed herself to be inveigled into
a cab and driven to a small flat in Bayswater. He
was too prudent to visit anybody else's rooms, he
said ; he had his flat on a weekly tenancy. Jim kept
rather a hold on her. He was neither rich nor
generous ; in fact Victoria's social sense often stabbed
her for what she considered undercutting, but Jim
used to hover about the Vesuvius five minutes before
closing time, and once or twice when Victoria had had
no luck, he succeeded like the vulture on the stricken
field.

Most of the others were dream figures ; she lost
count of them. After a month she coidd not re-
member a face. She even forgot a big fellow w^hom
she had called Black Beauty, who came down from
somewhere in Devonshire for a monthly bust ; he was

A BED OF ROSES 287

so miicli olfended that she had the mortification of
seeing him captured by one of the outer circle who sit
beyond the lights.

In the middle of August the streets she called
London were deserted. Steamy air, dust laden,
floated over the pavements. The Vesuvius was half
empty, and she had to cut down her standards.
Just as she was contemplating moving to Folkestone
for a month, however, she received a letter from
solicitors in the Strand, Bastable, Bastable & Sons,
informing her that ' re Major Cairns deceased,' they
were realising the estate on behalf of the administra-
tors, and that they would be obliged if she would say
when it would be convenient for her to convey the
furniture of Elm Tree Place into their hands. This
perturbed Victoria seriously. The furniture had a
value, and besides it w^as the plant of a flourishing
business.

' Pity he died suddenly,' she thought, ' he'd have
done something for me. He was a good sort, i)oor
old Tom.'

She dressed hei-self as becomingly and quietly as
she could, and, after looking up the law of intestacy in
Whitaker, concluded that Marmaduke Cairns' old
sisters must be the heirs. Then she sallied forth to
beard the solicitor in his den. The den was a magni-
ficent suite of offices just off the Strand. She was
ushered into a waiting room partitioned oft" from the
general office by glass. It was all very fi'owsy and
hot. There was nothing to read except the Times,
and she was uncomfortably conscious of three clerks
and an office boy who fi-equently turned round and
looked thi'ougJi the partition. At last she was ushered
in. The solicitor was a dry looking man of forty or
so ; his parchment face, deeph^ wrinkled right and
left, his keen blue eyes and high forehead impressed
her as dangerous. He motioned her to an armchair
on the other side of his desk.

288 A BED OF ROSES

' Well, Mrs Ferris,' lie said, ' to what do I owe tlie
honour of this visit? ' He sat back in his armchair
and bit his penholder. A smile elongated his thin
lips. This was his undoing, for he looked less
fonnidable and Victoria decided on a line of action.
She had come disturbed, now she was on her mettle.

'Mr Bastable,' she said, plmiging at once into
the subject, ' you ask me to surrender my furniture.
I'm not going to.'

' Oh ? ' The solicitor raised his eyebrows. ' But,
m}' dear madam, surely you must see . . .'

' I do. But I'm not going to.'

'Well,' he said, 'I hardly see . . . My duty will
compel me to take steps . . .'

' Of course,' said A^ictoria smiling, ' but if you
refuse to let me alone I shall go out of this office,
have the furniture moved to-day and put up at auction
to-morrow.'

A smile came over the solicitor's face. By Jove,
she was a fine w^oman and she had some spirit.

' Besides,' she added, ' all this would cause me a
great deal of annoyance. Major Cairns' affairs are
still very interesting to the public. I shall be com-
pelled, if you make me sell, to write a serial, say
My Life with an Irish Martyr for a Sunday paper.'

^Ir Bastable laughed frankly.

' You want to be nasty, I see. But you know, we
can stop your sale by an application to a judge in
chambers this afternoon. And as for your serial,
well, Major Cairns is dead, he won't mincl.'

' No, but his aunts will. Their name is Cairns.
As regards the sale, perhaps you and the other
lawyers can stop it. Very well, either you promise
or I go home and . . . perhaps there'll be a fire
to-night and perhaps there won't. I'm fully insured.'

' By Jove ! ' Bastable looked at her critically. Cairns
had been a lucky man. ' Well, Mrs Ferris,' he added,
'we're not used to troublesome customers like you.

A BED OF ROSES 289

I don't suppose ihe furniture is valuable, is it? '

' Oh, a couple of hundred,' said Victoria dis-
honestly.

'M'm. Do you absolutely want me to pledge
myself ? '

' Absolutely.'

' Well, Mrs Ferris, I can honestly promise you that
you won't hear anything more about it. I ... I
don't think it would pay us.'

Victoria laughed. A great joy of triumph was
upon her. She liked Bastable rather, now she had
brouglit him to heel.

'All right,' she said, 'it's a bargain.' Then she
saw that his mouth was smiling still and his eyes
fixed on her face.

' There's no quarrel between us, is there ? '

'No, of course not. All in the way of business,
j^ou know.'

He bent across the table ; she heard him breathe
in her perfume,

' Then,' she said slowly, getting up and pulling
on her gloves, 'I'm not doing anything to-night.
You know my address. Seven o'clock. You may
take me out to dinner.'

CHAPTER IX

Within a few days of her victory over Mr Bastable,
Victoria found herself in an introspective mood. The
solicitor was the origin of it, though unimportant
in himself as the grain of sand which falls into
a machine and, for a fraction of a second, causes
a wheel to rasp before the grain is crunched up.
She reflected, as she looked out over her garden that
she was getting very hard. She had brought this
man to his knees by threats ; she had vulgarly
bullied him by holding exposure over his head ; she
had behaved like a tragedy queen. Finally, with
sardonic intention, she had turned the contest to
good account by entangling him while he was still
under the influence of her personality.

All this was not what disturbed her, for after all,
she had only lied to Bastable, bullied him, threatened
him, bluffed as to her intentions : she had been
perfectly businesslike. Thoughtfidly she opened
the little door at the end of the hall and stepped
out on the outer landing where the garden steps
ended. Snoo and Poo, asleep in a heap in the
Aug^^st blaze, raised heavy eyelids and, yawning
and stretching, followed her down the steps.

This was a joyful little garden. The greater part
of it was a lawn, close cut but disfigured in many
places by Snoo and Poo's digging. Flower beds ran
along both sides and the top of the lawn, while the
bottom was occupied by the pergola, now covered
with massive red blooms ; an acacia tree, and an

A BED OF ROSES 291

elder tree, hotli leafy hut refusing to flower, sliaded
the bottom of the garden, which was effectively cut
off by a hedge of golden privet. It was a tidy
garden but it showed no traces of originality.
"Victoria had ordered it to be potted with geraniums,
carnations, pinks, marguerites and was quite content
to observe that somebody had put in sweet peas,
clematis and larkspur. Hers was not the tempera-
ment which expresses itself in a garden ; there Avas
no sense of peace in her idea of the beautiful. If
she liked the garden to look pretty at all it was
doubtless owing to her hereditj^

Victoria picked up a couple of stones and threw
them towards the end of the garden. Snoo and Poo
rushed into the privet, snuffling excitedly, while their
mistress drew down a heaA^y rose-laden branch from
the pergola and breathed the blossoms. Yes, she
was hard, and it was beginning to make her nervous.
In the early days she had sedulously cultivated the
spirit wdiich w^as making a new woman out of the
quiet, refined, rather shy girl she had been. There
had been a time when she would have shuddered at
the idea of a quarrel with a cabman about an over-
charge ; now, if it w^ere possible, she felt coldly certain
that she would cheat him of his rightful fare. This
process she likened to the tempering of steel and
called a development of the mental muscles. She
rather revelled in this development in the earlier
days, because it gave her a sense of power ; she
benefited by it too, for she found that by cultivating
this liardness she could extort more money by stoop-
ing to wheedle, by accepting snubs, by flattery and
lies too. The consciousness of this power redeemed
the exercise of it ; she often felt herself lifted above
this atmosphere of deceit by looking coldly at the
deed she was about to do, recognising its nature and
doing it with her eyes open.

A realization of another kind was however upon

292 A BED OF ROSES

Victoria tliat rich August day. In a sense she was
doing well. Her capital had not been touched ; in
fact it had probably increased and this in spite of
town being empty. She had not yet found the man
who would make her fortune, but she had no doubt
that he would appear if she continued on her even
road, selecting without passion, judging values and
possibilities. For the moment she brushed aside the
question of success ; it was assured. But, after
success, what then ? Saj^ she had four or five
hundred a year at thirty and retired into the country
or went to America. What use would she be to
herself or to anybody if she had learned exclusiA^ely
to bide her time and to strike for her own advantage ?
Life was a contest for the poor and for the rich alike
but the first had to fight to win and to use any means,
fair or foid, while the latter could accejDt knightly
rules, be magnanimous when victorious, graceful
when defeated.

' Yes,' said Victoria, ' I must keep myself in trim.
It's all very well to win and I've got to be as hard as
nails to men, but . . .'

She stopped abruptly. The problem had solved
itself. ' Hard as nails to men,' did not include
women, for ' men ' seldom means mankind when the
talk is of rights. She did not know what her mission
might be. Perhaps, after she had succeeded, she
would travel all over Europe, perhaps settle on the
English downs where the west winds blow, perhaps
even be the pioneer of a great sex revolt, but
whatever she did, if her triumph was not to be
sterile, she would need sympathy, the capacity to
love. Thus she amended her articles of war :
' Woman shall be spared, and I shall remember that,
as a member of a sex fighting another sex, I must
understand and love my sister warrior.'

It was in pursuance of her new policy that, on her
way to the Vesuvius, Victoria dawdled for a moment

A BED OF ROSES 293

at tlie entrance of Swallow Street, under its portico.
A few yards beyond her stood a woman wliom she
knew by sight as having established practically a
proprietary right to her beat. She was a dark
girl, good-looking enough, well set up in her
close fitting wiiite linen blouse, drawn tight to set
off her swelling bust. In the dim light Victoria
could see that her face was rather worn and tliat the
ravages of time had been clumsily repaired. The
girl looked at her curiously at first, then angrily,
evidently disliking the appearance of what might be
a dangerous rival in her own preserves. Victoria
walked up and down on the pavement. The girl
watched her every footstep. Once she made as if to
speak to her. It was ghostly, for passers-by in
Regent Street came to and fro beyond the portico
like arabesques. A passing policeman gave the girl
a meaning look. She tossed her head and walked
away down Regent Street, while Victoria nervously
continued down Swallow Street to Piccadilly.

These two women were however to meet. About
a week later Victoria, happening to pass by at the
same hour, saw tlie girl and stopped under the arch.
In another second the girl Avas by her side.

' What are you following me about for ? ' she
snarled. ' If you're a grote it's no go. You won't
teach the copper anything he doesn't know.'

' Oh, I'm not following you,' said Victoria. ' Only
I saw you about and thought I'd like to talk to you.'

The girl shot a dark glance at her.

'What's your game?' she asked. 'You're not one
of those blasted sisters. Too toffish. Seen you come
out of the Vez', besides.'

' I'm in the profession,' said Victoria coolly. ' But
that doesn't mean I've got to be against the
others.'

' Doesn't it ! ' The girl's eyes glowed. ' You don't
know your job. Of course j'-ou've got to be against

294 A BED OF ROSES

the olliers. We were born like that. Or got like
that. What's it matter ? '

' Matter ? oh, a lot,' said Victoria. ' We want
fi'iends, all of ns.'

' i riends. Oh, Lord ! The likes of you and nie
don't have friends. Women, they won't kno"\v ns . . .
too good. Except our sort. We can't talk ; we got
nothing to talk of, except monej' and the boys. And
the boys, what's the good of them? There's the sort
you pick up and all you've got to do's to get what
you can out of them. HaA'en't fallen in love with one,
have 3'ou ? * The girl's voice broke a little, then she
went on. ' Then, there's the other sort, like my Hugo,
p'raps you've heard of him ? '

' No,' she said, ' I haven't. What is he like ? '

' Bless you, he's a beauty.' The girl smiled ; her
face was full of pride.

' Does he treat you well ? '

' So so. Sometimes.' The shadow had returned.
' Not like my first. Oh, it's hard you know, begin-
ning. He left me with the baby after three months.
I was in service in Pembridge Gardens, such a swell
house. I had to keep baby. It died then, jolly good
thing too. Couldn't go back to service. Eveiybody
knew.'

The girl burst into tears and Victoria putting an
arm round her drew her against her breast.

' Everybody knew, everybody knew,' wailed the

Victoria had the vision of a thousand spectral eyes,
all full of knowledge, gazing at the housemaid caught
by them sinning. The girl rested her head against
A^ictoria's shoulder for a moment, holding one of her
hands. Suddenly she raised her head again and
cleared her tliroat.

' There,' she said, ' let me go. Hugo's waiting for
me at tlie Carcassonne. Never mind me. We've all
got to live, he-he.'

A BED OF ROSES 295

She turned into Regent Street and another ' he-he '
floated back. Victoria felt a heavy weight at her
heart ; poor girl, weak, the sport of one man, deceived,
then a pirate made to disgorge her gains by another
man, handsome, subtle, playing upon her affections
and her fears. What did it matter? Wasshe not in
the same position, but freer because conscious ; poor
slave soul. But the time had come for Victoria to
make for the Vesuvius. ' It must be getting late,' she
thought, putting up her hand to her little gold watch-
brooch.

It was gone. She had it on when she left, but it
could not have dropped out, for the lace showed two
long rips ; it had just been torn out. Victoria stood
frozen for a moment. So this was the result of a first
attempt at love. She recovered however. She was
not going to generalise from one woman. ' Besides,'
she thought bitterly, ' the girl's theories are the same
as mine. She merely has no reservations or hesitations.
The bolder pirate, she is perhaps the better brain.'

Then she walked down Swallow Street into
Piccadilly, and at once a young man in loud checks was
by her side. She looked up into his face, her smile
full of covert promise as they went into the Vesuvius
together. A^ictoria was now at home in the market
place and could exchange a quip with the frequenters.
Languidly she dropped her cloak into the hands of
the porter and preceded the young man into the
supper room. As they sat at the little table before
the liqueur, her eyes saw the garish room through a
film. How deadening it aU was, and how lethal the
draughts sold here. An inmiense weariness was
upon her, an innnense disgust, as she smiled full-
toothed on the young man in checks. He was a
cheerful rattle, suggested the man who has got beyond
the retail trade without reaching the professions, a
house agent's clerk perhaps.

' Oh, yes, Tm a merry devil, ha ! ha ! ' He \dnked

296 A BED OF ROSES

a pleasant grey eye. Victoria noticed that his
clotlies were too new, his boots too new, his manners
too a recent acquisition.

'Don't wony. That's how you keep young,
lia ! ha ! Besides, don't have much tiine to mope in
my trade ? '

' What's that ? ' asked Victoria vacuously. Men
generally lied as to their occupation, but she had
noticed that when their imagination was stimulated
tlieir temper improved,

' Inspector of bun-pimchers, ha ! ha ! '

' Bun-punchers ? '

'Yes, bun-punchers. South Eastern Railway, you
know. Got to have them dated now. New iVct of
Parliament, ha ! ha ! '

Victoria laughed, for his cockney joviality was
infectious. Then again the room faded and re-
materialised as his voice rose and fell.

' The wife don't know I'm out on the tiles, ha ! ha !
She's in Streatham, looking after the smalls. . . .
Oh, no, none of your common or garden brass
fenders. . . .'

Victoria pulled herself together. This was what
she could not bear. Brutality, the obscene even,
were preferable to this dreary trickling of the inane
masquerading as wit. Yet she smiled at him.

'You're saucy,' she said. 'You're my fancy
to-night.'

A shadow passed over the man's face. Then again
he was rattling along.

'Talk of inventions? What'd you think of mine:
indiarubber books to read in your bath? ha ! ha ! . . .'

But these are only the moths that flutter round the
lamp too far to bum their wings. They love to
breathe perfume, to touch soft hands, gaze at bright
eyes and golden hair ; tlien they flutter away and the
hand that would stay their flight cannot rob them even
of a few specks of golden dust. In a few minutes

A BED OF ROSES 297

Victoria sat philosophically before her emptj' glass
while Fascination Fledgeby "was by the side of a
rival, being ' an awful dog,' for the benefit of his
fellow clerks on the morrow. She was in the mood,
when it did not matter whether she was unlucky or not.
There were quite two women present for every man
this hot August night. At the next table sat a
woman known as ' Duckie,' fair, very fat and rosy;
she was the vision bursting from a white dress which
Victoria had seen the first niglit. On the first night
she had embodied for Victoria, so large, so fat, so
coarsely animal was she, the v^ery essence of her
trade ; now she knew her better she found that
Duckie was a good sort, careless, generous, perfectly
incapable of doing anj'body an ill turn. She was
bonne fille even, so unmercenary as sometimes to
accede good humouredly to the pleadings of an
impecunious youth. Her one failing was a fondness
for ' a wet.' She was drinking her third whisky and
soda ; if she was invited to supper she would add to
that at least half a bottle of champagne, follow that
up by a couple of liqueurs and a peg just before going
to bed. She carried her liquor well ; she merely grew
a little vagTie.

' Hot,' remarked Duckie.

'Rather,' said Victoria. 'I'm going soon, can't
stick it.'

'Good for you. I've got to stay. Always
harder for grandmas like me when the fifth form
boy's at the seaside.' Duckie laughed, without
cynicism though ; she had the reasoning poAvers of
a cow.

Victoria laughed too. A foreign-looking girl in
scarlet bent over from the next table, her long coral
earrings sliding doAvii over her collar-bones.

' Tight again,' said the girl.

'As a diami, Lissa, old girl,' said Duckie good
tempore dly.

298 A BED OF ROSES

' Notliing to what j'ou'll be bj^ and by,' added Lissa
with the air of a comforter.

' Nothing like, okl dear. Have one with me, Lissa ?
No ? No offence. You, Zoe, have a toixl hoyaux?'

' No thanks.' Zoe was a good-looking short girl,
her French nationality written in every line of her
round face, plump figure and hands. Her hair was
pulled away from the fat nape of her neck. She
looked competent and wide awake. A housewife
gone astray. Lissa, dark and Italian looking in her
red dress and coral earrings, was more languid than
the others. She was really a Greek and all the grace
of the East was in every movement of her slim figure.
In a moment the four women had clustered together,
forgetting strife.

Lissa had had a ' Bank of Engraving' note palmed
off on her hy a pseudo-South American planter and
was rightly indignant. They were still talking of
Camille de Valenciennes and of her misfortunes with
the barber. Bo^^s, the latest tip for Gatwick, ' what
I said to him,' the furriers' sales, boys again . . .
Victoria listened to the conversation. It still seemed
like another world and yet her world. Here they
were, she and the other atoms, hostile every one, and
a blind centripetal force was kneading them together
into a class. Yet any class was better than the isola-
tion in which she lived. Why not go further, hear
more ?

'I say, you girls,' she said suddenly, ' you've never
been to my place. Come and . . . no, not dine, it
won't work . . . come and lunch with me next week.'

Duckie smiled heavily.

* I don' min',' she said thickly.

Zoe looked suspicious for a moment.

' Can I bring Fritz ? ' asked Lissa.

' No, we can't have Fritz,' said Victoria smiling.
* Ladies only.'

' I'm on,' said Zoe suddenly. ' I was afi'aid you

A BED OF ROSES 299

were going to liave a lot of swells in. Hate tliose
shows. Never do j'^ou any good and you get so
crumpled.'

' You might let me bring Fritz,' said Lissa
querulously.

' No men,' said Victoria firmly. ' Wednesday at
one o'clock. All square ? '

' Thathawright,' remarked Duckie. ' Shut it
Lissa. Fritzawright. Telbn its biz . . . bizness.'

With some difficulty they hoisted Duckie into a
cab and sent her off to Bloomsbury. As it drove
off she popped her head out.

' Carriage paid ? ' she spluttered, ' or C. 0. D. ? '

Zoe and Lissa walked away to the circus. On her
little hall table, as Victoria went into her house, she
found a note scrawled in pencil on some of her own
notepaper. It was fi'om Betty. It said that Farwell
had been stricken do^vii by a sudden illness and was
sinking fast. His address followed.

CHAPTER X

In a bed sitting-room at the top of an old lioiise off
the Waterloo Road three women were watching by
the bedside of a man. One was dressed in rusty
black ; she was pale faced, crowned with light hair ;
the other, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other,
was middle aged and veiy stont ; her breast rolled
like a billow in her half buttoned bodice. The tliird
was beautiful, all in black, her sumptuous neck and
shoulders bare. None of them moved for a moment.
Then the beautiful woman threw back her cloak and
her long jade earrings tinkled. The face on the
pillow turned and opened its eyes.
' Victoria,' said a faint voice.

* Yes . . . are you better ? ' Victoria bent over the
bed. The face was copper coloured ; every bone
seemed to start out. She could hardly recognise
Farwell's rough hewn features.

' Not yet . . . soon,' said Farwell. He closed his
eyes once more.

' What is it Betty ? ' whispered Victoria.

' I don't know . . , hemorrhage they say.'

'It's all up mum,' whispered the landlady in
Victoria's ear. * Been ill two days only. Doctor said
he wouldn't come again.'

Victoria bent over the bed once more. She could
feel the eyes of the landlady probing her personality.

* Can't you do something? ' she asked savagely.
'Nothing.' Farwell opened his eyes again and

faintly smiled. ' And what's the good Victoria ? '

A BED OF ROSES 301

Victoria threw lierself on her knees by the side of
the bed. 'Oh, you musn't,' she whispered. 'You
. . . the world can't spare you.'

* Oh, yes ... it can . . . you know . . . the
world is like men . . it spends everything on luxuries
... it can't afford necessaries.'

Victoria smiled and felt as if she were going to
choke. The last paradox.

' Are you in pain? ' she asked.

'No, not just now. ... I shall be soon. Let me
speak w^hile I can.' His voice grew firmer suddenly.

'I have asked you to come so that you may be
the last thing I see, you, the fairest. I love you.'

Not one of the three women moved.

' I have not spoken before because when I could
speak we were slaves. Now you are fi-ee and I a
slave. It is too late, so it is time for me to speak.
For I cannot influence you.'

Farwell shut liis eyes. But soon his voice rose
again.

' You must never influence anybody. That is my
legacy to you. You cannot teach men to stand by
giving thein a staff. Let the halt and the lame alone.
The strong will win. You must be fi'ee. There is
nothing worth while. . . .' A shiver passed over
him, his voice became muffled.

' No, nothing at all . . . freedom only. . . .'

He spoke quicker. The words could not be
distinguished. Now and then he groaned.

' Wait,' whispered Betty, ' it will be over in a
minute.' For two minutes they waited.

Victoria's eyes fastened on a basin by the bedside,
full of reddish water. Then Farwell's face grew
lighter in tone. His voice came faint as the sound of
a spinet.

'There will be better times. But before then
fighting . . . the coming to the top of the leaders . . .
gold will be taken from the rich . . . given to the

302 A BED OF ROSES

vile . . . pictures bm-nt . . . chaos . . . woman rise
as a tyrant . . . there will be fighting . . . the
coming to the to]D. . . .' His voice thinned down to
nothing as his wandering mind repeated his predic-
tion. Then he spoke again.

' You are a rebel . . . yon will lead . . . you have
understood . . . only by understanding are you saved.
I asked you to come here to tell you to go on . . .
earn your freedom ... at the expense of others.'

' Why at the expense of others ? ' asked Betty,
leaning over the bed. Farwell was hypnotising her.
His eyes Avandered to her face.

' Too late . . .' he said, ' you do not see . . . you
are a slave ... a woman has only one weapon . . .
otherwise, a slave . . . ask . . . ask Victoria.' He
closed his eyes but went on speaking.

' There is not fr'eedom for everybody . . . capitalism
means freedom for a few . . . you must have fr^eedom,
like food . . . food for the soul . . . you must capture
the right to respect ... a woman may not toil . . .
make money . . .'

Then again : ' I am going into the blackness . . .
before Death . . . the Judge . . . Death will judge
me. . . .'

' 'E's thinking of his Maker, poor genelman,' said
the landLady hoarsely.

Victoria and Betty looked at one another. Agnostic
or indifferent in their cooler moments the superstition
of their ancestors worked in their blood, powerfully
assisted b}'' the spectacle of this being passing step
by step into an unknown. There must be life there,
feeling, loving. There must be Something.

The voice stopped. Betty had seized Victoria's
arm and now clutched it violently. Victoria could
feel through her own body the sliudders that shook
the girl's frame. Then Farwell's voice rose again,
louder and louder, like the upward flicker of a dying
candle.

A BED OF ROSES 303

' Yes, freedom's my message, the right to live.
This world into which we are evolved by a selfish act
of joy, into which we are dragged miwilling with
pain for our usher, it is a world which has no justifica-
tion save the freedom to enjoy it as we may. I have
lived a stoic, but it is a hedonist I die. Unshepherded
I go into a perhaps. But I regret nothing ... all
the certainties of the past are not Avorth the possible
of the future. Behind me others tread the road that
leads up the hill.'

He paused for breath. Then again his voice arose
as a cry, proclaiming liis creed.

' On the top of the hill. There I see the unknown
land, limning with milk and honey. I see a ncAv
people, beautiful yoiing, beautiful old. Its fathers
have ground the faces of the helots ; they have fought
and lusted, they have suffered contumely and stripes.
Now they know the Law, the Law that all may keep
because they are beyond the Law. They do not
desire, for they have, they do not weigh, for they
know. They have not feared, they have dared ; they
have spared no man, nor themselves. Ah, now they
have opened the Golden Gates. . . .'

The man's voice broke, he coughed, a thin
stream of blood trickled fi'om the side of his mouth.
Victoria felt a film come over her eyes. She leant
over him to staunch the flow. They saw one
another then. Farwell's voice went down to a
whisper.

' Victoria . . . victorious . . my love . . . never
more. . . .'

She looked into his glazing eyes.

' Beyond . . .' he whispered ; then his head fell
to one side and his jaw dropped.

Betty turned aAvay. She was crying. The land-
lady wiped her hands on her apron. Victoria hesi-
tatingly took hold of Farwell's wrist. He was dead.
She looked at him stupidly for a moment, then drew

304 A BED OF ROSES

her cloak round her shivering shoulders. The land-
lady too was crying now.

'Oh, mum, sich a nice genelman,' she moaned,
' But 'e did go on so ! '

Victoria smiled pitifully. "What an epitaph for a
smiset ! She drove away with Betty and, as the horse
trotted through the deserted streets, hugged the girl
in her arms. Betty was shuddering violently and
nestled close up to her. They did not speak.
Everything seemed to have become loose in Victoria's
mind and to be floating on a black sea. The pillar
of her individualism was down. Her codes were in
the melting pot; a man, the finest she had known,
had confessed his love in Ms extremity and, before
she could respond, passed into the shadow. But
Farwell had left lier as a legacy the love of freedom
for which he died, for which she was going to live.

When they arrived at Elm Tree Place, A'^ictoria
forced Betty to drink some brandy, to tell her how
Farwell had sent her a message, asking her to send
him Victoria, how she had waited for her.

' Oh, it was awful,' whispered Betty, ' the maid said
you'd be late . . , she said I mustn't wait because
you might not . . .'

* Not come home alone ? ' said Victoria in a frozen
voice.

' Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it.' Betty flmig
herself into her friend's arms, wildly weeping.

Victoria soothed her, made her undress. As Betty
grew more collected she let drop a few words.

' Oh, so then you too are happy ? ' said Victoria
smiling faintly.

' You love ? ' A burning blush rose over Betty's face.

That night, as in the old Finsbury days, they lay
in one another's arms and Victoria gi-appled with her
sorrow. Gentle, almost motherly, she watched over
this young life, blushing, fidl of promise, preparing
already to replace the dead.

CHAPTER XI

The death of Farwell seemed to leave Victoria
struggling and gasping for breath like a shipwrecked
mariner who tries to secure his footing on shifting
sand while waves knock him down every time he
rises to liis knees. Though she hardly ever saw him
and though she had no precise idea that he cared
for her more than does the scientist for the bacteria
lie observes, he had been her tower of strength. He
was there, like the institutions which make up civilisa-
tion, the British Constitution, the Bank and the
Establislied Church, Now he was gone and she saw
that the temple of life was empty. He was the last
link. Cairns' death had turned her out among the
howling wolves ; now Farwell seemed to have carried
away with him her theory of life. Above all she
now knew nobody, save Betty who counted as a
charming child. It was then she began to taste
more cruelly the isolation of her class.

In the early days, when she paced up and down
fiercely in the room at Portsea Place, she had ab'eady
realised that she was alone, but then she was not
an outcast ; the doors of society were, if not open,
at any rate not locked against her. Then the busy
liimi of the Rosebud and the P.R.R., the back-break-
ing work, the hustle, the facile fi'iendships with City
beaus, all this had drawn a veil over her solitude.
Now she was really alone because none knew and
none would know her. Her beauty, her fine clothes
contributed to clear round her a circle as if she were
U 305

3o6 A BED OF ROSES

a leper. At times she "would talk to a woman in a
park, but before a few sentences had passed her lips
the woman would take in every detail of her, her
clean gloves, her neat shoes, her lace handkercliief,
her costly veil ; then the woman's face would grow
rigid and, with a curt ' good morning ' she would rise
from her seat and go.

Victoria found herself thrust back, like the trapper
in the hands of Red Indians ; like him she ran in a
circle, clubbed back towards the centre every time
she tried to escape. She Avas of her class and none
but her class would associate with her. Women such
as herself gladly talked to her, but their ideas sickened
her, for life had taught them nothing but the ethics
of the sex-trade. Their foRowers too, barbers, billiard
markers, shady bookmakers, unemployed potmen, who
sometimes dared to foist themselves on her, filled her
with yet greater fear and disgust, for they were the
only alternative class of man to those on whose bounty
she lived. Thus she withdrew herself away from all ;
sometimes a craving for society would throw her into
equivocal converse with Augusta whose one idea was
the dowry she must take back to Gel•man3^ Then,
tiring of her, she would snatch up Snoo and Poo
and pace round and round her tiny lawn like a
squirrel in its wheel.

A chance meeting with Molly emphasised her
isolation, like the flash of lightning wliich leaves the
night darker. vShe was standing on the steps of the
Sandringham Tea House in Bond Street, looking into
the side window of the photographer who runs a
print shop on the ground floor. Some sprawling
Boucher beauties in delicate gold frames fascinated
her. She delighted in the semi-crude, semi-sophisti-
cated atmosphere, the rotundity of the well-fed bodies,
their ribald rosy flesh. As she was wondering whether
they would not do for the stairs the door opened
suddenly and a plump little woman almost rushed

A BED OF ROSES 307

into lier arms. The little woman apologised, giving
her a quick look. Then the two looked at one
another again.

' Victoria ! ' cried Molly, for it was she, with her
wide open blue eyes, small nose, fair frizzy hair.

A thrill of joy and fear ran through Victoria. She
felt her personality criddle up like a scorched moth,
then expand like a flower under gentle dew. She
was found out ; the terrible female instinct was going
to detect her, then to proclaim her guilt. However,
bravely enough, she braced herself up and held out
her hand.

' Oh, Vic, why haven't you written to me for, let
me see, three years, isn't it ? '

'I've been away, abroad,' said Victoria slowly. She
seemed to float in another w^orld. Molly was talking
vigorously ; Victoria's brain, feverishly active, was
making up the story which woidd have to be told
Vvdien Molly's cheerful egotism had had its way.

' Don't let's stay here on the doorstep,' she inter-
rupted, ' let's go upstairs and have tea. You haven't
had tea yet ? '

' I shoidd love to,' said Molly, squeezing her arm.
' Then you can tell me about yourself.'

Seated at a little table Molly finished her simple
story. She had married an army chaplain, but he
had given up his work in India and was now rector of
Pontyberis in Wales. They had two children. Molly
was up in town merely to break the journey, as she
was going doAvn to stay w^th her aunt in Kent. Oh,
yes, she was very happy , her husband w^as very well.

' They're talking of making him Dean of Ffwr,'
she added with unction. ' But that's enough about
me. How have you been getting on, A^ic ? I needn't
iisk how you are ; one only has to look at you.'
Molly's eyes roved over her fi'iend's beautiful young
face, her clothes which she appraised with the skill
oi those poor who are learned in the fashions.

3oS A BED OF ROSES

* I ? Oh, I'm very well,' said Victoria hysterically.

' Yes, but how have you been getting on ? Weren't
you talking about having to work when you came
over ? '

' Yes, but I've been lucky ... a week after I got
here an aunt of my mother's died of whom I never
even heard before. They told me at Dick's lawyers
a month later, and you wouldn't believe it, there was
no will and I came in for . . . well something cjuite
comfortable.'

^lolly put out her hand and stroked Victoria's.

' I'm so glad,' she said. . . . ' Oh, you don't know
how hard it is to have to work for your living. I
see something of it in Wales. Oh, if you only
knew. . . .'

Victoria pressed her lips together, as if about to
cry or laugh.

' But what did you do then ? You only wrote once.
You didn't tell me ? '

' No, I only heard a month after, you know. Oh, I
had a lot to do. I travelled a lot. I've been in
America a good deal. In fact my home is in . . .
Alabama.'- She phmged for Alabama, feeling sure
that New York was unsafe.

' Oh, how nice,' said Molly ingenuously. ' You
might have sent me picture postcards, you know.'

Skilfully enough Victoria explained that she had
lost Molly's address. Her friend blissfully accepted
all she said, but a few other women, less ingenuous
than the clei-gyman's wife were casting sharji glances
at her. When tliej^ parted, Victoria audaciously
giving her address as * care of Mrs Ferris, Elm Tree
Place,' she tlirew herself back on the cushions of the
cab and told herself that s]ie could not again go
through witli the ordeal of facing her own class.
She almost hungered for the morrow when she was to
entertain the class she had adopted.

CHAPTER XII

The Fulton liousehold had always been short of
money, for Dick spent too much himself to leave
anytliing for entertaining ; thus A^ictoria had very
little exj^erience of lunch parties. Since she had
left the Holts she hardly remembered a bourgeois
meal. The little affair on the Wednesday was there-
fore provocative of much thought. Mutton was
dismissed as common, beef in any form as coarse ;
Laura's suggestion (for Laura and Augusta had been
called in) of a savoury sauerkraut (' mit Blutwurst,
Frankfm'ter, Leberi^Tirst, etc.'), was also dismissed.
Both servants took a keen interest in the occasion.

' But why no gentlemen come ? ' asked Laura, who
was clearly ill disposed to do her best for her own
sex.

'In the house I was . . .' began Augusta . . .
then she froze up under Victoria's eye. Her mistress
still had a strain of the prig in her.

Then Augusta suggested hors d'oeuvres, smoked
salmon, anchovies, olives, radishes ; Laura forced
forward fowl a la Milanaise, to be preceded by baked
John Dory cayemie. Then Augusta in a moment of
inspiration thought of French beans and vegetable
marrow . . . stuffed with chestnuts. The thi'ee
women laughed, Laura clapped her hands with the
sheer joy of the creative artist.

When Victoria came into the dining room at half -past
twelve she was almost dazzled by her own magnifi-
cence. Neither the Carlton nor the Savoy could equal

3IO A BED OF ROSES

the blaze of her plate, the brilliant polish of her table-
cloths. The dahlias blazed dark red in cut glass by
the side of pale belated roses from the garden. On
the sideboard fat peaches were heaped in a modem
Lowestoft bowl and amber coloured plums lay like
portly dowagers in velvet.

A few minutes before the hour Zoe and Lissa
arrived together. They were nervous, not on
account of Victoria's spread, for thej^ were of the
upper stratum, but because they were in a house.
Accustomed to their small flats off Shaftesbuiy Avenue,
where tiny kitchens jostled with bedroom and boudoir,
they were frightened by the suggestion of a vast base-
ment out of which floated the savoury aroma of the
John Dory baking. Victoria tried to put them at
their ease, took their parasols away and showed them
into the boudoir. There they sat in a triangle, the
hot sun blazing in upon them, stiff and starched with
the formality of those who are seldom formal,

' Have a Manhattan cocktail ? ' asked the hostess.

* No thanks ; ver}^ hot isn't it ? ' said Lissa in her
most refined manner. She was looking very pretty,
dark, slim and snaky in her close fitting lemon
coloured frock.

' A^ery hot,' chimed in Zoe. She was sitting un-
necessarily erect. Her flat French back seemed, to
abhor the easy chair. Her tight hair, her trim hands,
her well boned collar, everything breathed neatness,
well laced stays, a full complement of hooks and
eyes. She might have been the sedate wife of a
prosperous French tradesman.

' Yes, it is hot,' said Victoria.

Then the conversation flagged. The hostess tried
to draw out her guests. They were obviously anxious
to behave. Lissa posed for ' The Sketch,' Zoe remained
tres correcte.

' Do you like my pictures ? ' asked Victoria pointing
to the French engi-avings.

A BED OF ROSES 311

* They are very pretty,' said Lissa.

' I am veiy interested in engravings,' said Zoe,
looking at the rosewood clock. There was a longish
pause.

'I must show you my little dogs,' cried Victoria.
She must do something. She went out to the landing
and opened the garden door. There she met Augusta
carrying a trayful of finger bowls. She felt inspired
to overturn it if only to break the ice. Snoo and
Poo rushed in, but in the boudoir they also instinctively
became very well bred.

'I am very fond of dogs,' said Lissa. Snoo lay
down on her back.

' She is very pretty,' remarked Zoe.

Victoria punched the dogs in the ribs, rolled them
over. It was no good. They woidd do nothing but
gently wag their tails. She felt she woidd like to
swear, when suddenly the fi'ont door was slammed,
a cheerful voice rang in the hall.

' Hidloa, here's Duckie,' said Lissa.

The door opened loudly and Duckie seemed to nish
in as if seated on a high wind.

' Here we are again,' cried the buxom presence in
white. Everyone of her frills rattled like metal.
' Late as usual. Oh, Vic, what angel pups ! '

Duckie was on her knees. In a moment she had
stirred up the Pekingese. They forgot their manners.
They barked vociferously and Zoe's starch was taken,
out of her by Poo who rushed under her skirts.
Lissa laughed and jumped up.

' Here Vic,' said Duckie ponderously, ' give us a
hand, old girl. Never can jump about after gin and
bitters,' she added confidentially as they helped her up.

The ice was effectually broken. They filed into
the dining-room in pairs, Victoria and Lissa being
slim playing the part of men. How they gobbled up
the hors d'oeuvres and how golden the John Dory
was : the flanks of the fish shone like an old violin.

3' 2 A BED OF ROSES

Aiip:nsta flitted about quick but noisy. Tliere was a
smile on her face.

'Steady on, old love,' said Duckie to her as the
maid inadvertently poured her claret into a tumbler.

* Never you mind, Gussie,' cried Zoe, bursting with
familiarity, ' she'll be having it in a bucket by and by.'

Augusta laughed. What easy going herrschaft !

The talk was getting racier now. By the ' time
they got to the dessert the merriment was rather
supper than lunch like.

'Victoria plums,' said LIssa, 'let us name them
Bonne Hotesse.^

The idea was triumphant. Duckie insisted on
drinking a toast in hock, for she never hesitated to
mix her wines. Victoria smiled at them indulgently.
The 3'outh of all this and the jollity, the ease of it;
all that was not of her old class.

' Confusion to the puritans,' she cried, and drained
her glass. Snoo and Poo were fighting for scraps,
for Duckie was already getting uncertain in her aim.
Lissa and Zoe like nymphs teasing Bacchus, were
pelting her with plum stones, but she seemed quite
unconscious of their pranks. They had some difficulty
in getting her into the boudoir for coffee and liqueurs ;
once on the sofa she tried to go to sleep. Her com-
panions roused her however; the scent of coffee,
acrid and stimulating, stung their nostrils; the
liqueurs shone wickedly, green and golden in their
glass bottles ; talk became more individual, more
reminiscent. Here and there a joke shot up like a
rocket or stuck quivering in Duckie's placid flanks.

' Well Vic,' said Zoe, 'you are very well installee.'
She slowly emptied of cigarette smoke her expanded
cheeks and surveyed the comfortable little room.

'Did jTm do it yourself?' asked Lissa. 'It must
liave cost you a lot of money.'

* Oh, I didn't pay.' Victoria was either getting
less reticent or the liqueur was playing her tricks.

A BED OF ROSES 313

* I began with a man who set me up here,' she added ;

* he was ... he died suddenly ' she went on more
cautiously.

' Oh ! ' Zoe's eyebrows shot up. * That's what I
call luck. But why do you not have a flat? It is
cheaper.'

* Yes, but more inconvenient,' said Lissa. ' Ah, Vic.
I do envy you. You don't know. We're always in
trouble. We are moving every month.'

' But why ? ' asked Victoria. ' Why must j^ou move ? '

'Turn you out. Neighbours talk and then the
landlord's conscience begins to prick him,' grumbled
Duckie from the sofa.

' Oh, I see,' said Victoria. * But when they turn
you out what do you do ? '

' Go somewhere else, softy,' said Duckie.

' But then what good does it do ? '

All the women laughed.

' Law, who cares ? ' said Duckie. ' I dunno.'

'It is perfectly simple,' began Zoe in her precise
foreign English. ' You see the landlord he will not
let flats to ladies. When the police began to watch
it would cause him des ennuis. So he lets to a
gentleman w^ho sublets the flats, you see ? When the
trouble begins, he doesn't know.'

' But what about the man who sublets ? ' asked the
novice.

'Him? Oh, he's gone when it begins,' said Lissa.
' But they arrest the hall porter.'

' Justice must have its way, I see,' said Victoria.

' What j'ou call justice,' grumbled Duckie, ' I call
it damned hard lines.'

For some minutes Victoria discussed the housing
problem with the fat jolly woman. Duckie was in a
cheerful mood. One could hardly believe, when one
looked at her puffy pink face, that she had seen
fifteen j-ears of trouble.

' Landladies,' she soliloquised, ' it's worse. You

314 A BED OF ROSES

take my tip Vie, you steer clear of tliem. You pay
as much for a pigsty as a man pays for a palace. If
you do badly they chuck you out and stick to your
traps and what can you do? You don't call a
policeman. If you do well, they raise the rent,
steal your clothes, charge you key money, and don't
give 'em any lip if you don't want a man set at
you. Oh, Lor ! '

Duckie went on, and as she spoke her bluntness
caused Victoria to A'isualise scene after scene, one
mor horrible than another, a tall dingy house in
Bloomsbury with unlit staircases leading up to black
landings suggestive of robbery and murder, bedrooms
with blinded windows, reeking with patchouli, with
carpets soiled by a myriad ignoble stains. The house
Duckie pictured was like a warren in every corner of
which soft handed, rosy lipped harpies sucked men's
life blood ; there was drinking in it, and a piano
played light airs ; below in the ground floor, through
the half open door, she could see two or three
foreigners, unshaven, dirty cuffed, playing cards in
silence like hunters in ambush. She shuddered.

' Yes, but Fritz isn't so bad,' broke in Lissa. She
had all this time been wrangling with Zoe.

'No good,' snapped Zoe, 'he's a ... a houcJie
inutile.' Iler pursed-up lips tightened. Fritz was
swept away to limbo by her practical French
philosophy.

'I like him because he is not useful' said Lissa
dreamily. Zoe shi'ugged her shoulders. Poor fool,
this Lissa.

' Who is this Fritz you're always tallying about ? '
asked Victoria.

' He's a . . . you know what they call them,' said
Duckie brutally.

' You're a liar,' screamed Lissa jumping up. ' He's
. . . oh, Vic, you do not understand. He's the man
I care for ; he is so handsome, so clever, so gentle . . .'

A BED OF ROSES 315

* Very gentle,' sneered Zoe, ' why did you not take
off your long gloves last week, hein? Perhaps you
had blue marks ? '

Lissa looked about to cry. Victoria put her hand
on her arm.

' Never mind them,' she said, ' tell me.'

' Oh, Vic, you are so good.' Lissa's face twitched,
then she smiled like a child l^ribed with a sweet.
* They do not know ; they are hard. It is true, Fritz
does not work, but if we were married he would work
and I would do nothing. What does it matter ? '
They all smiled at the theory but Lissa went on with
heightened colour.

' Oh, it is so good to forget all the others ; they are
so ugly, so stupid. It is infernal. And then, Fritz,
the man that I love for himself . . .'

' And who loves you for . . .' began Zoe.

'Shut up, Zoe,' said Duckie, her kindly heart
expanding before this idealism, ' leave the kid alone.
Not in my line of course. You take my tip, all of
you, you go on your own. Don't you get let in with
a landlad}^ and don't you get let in with a man. It's
tliem you've got to let in.'

' That's what I say,' remarked Zoe. ' We are
successful because we take care. One must be
economical. For instance, every month I can. . . .'
She stoj)ped and looked round suspiciously ; with
economy goes distrust and Zoe was very French.
' Well, I can manage,' she concluded vaguely.

' And you need not talk, Duckie,' said Lissa
savagely. ' You drink two quid's worth every
week.'

' Well, s'pose I do,' giTimbled the cherub. ' Think
I do it for pleasure? Tell you what, if I hadn't got
squiffy at the beginning I'd have gone off me bloomin'
chump. I was in Buenos Ayres, went off with a
waiter to get married. He was in a restaurant,
Highgate way, where I was in service. I found out

3i6 A BED OF ROSES

iill about it when I got there. 0 Lor. Why we jolly
well had to drink, what with those Argentines who're
half monkeys and the good of the house. Oh,
Lor.' She smiled. ' Those were high old times,' she
said inconsequently, overwhehned by the glamour of
the past. There was silence.

' I see,' said Victoria suddenly. * I've never seen
it before. If you want to get on, you've got to run
on business lines. No ties, no men to bleed you.
Save your money. Don't drink ; save your looks.
Why, those are good rules for a bank cashier. If
you trip, down you go in the mud and nobody '11 pick
you up. So you've got to walk warily, not look at
anybody, play fair and play hard. Then you can
get some cash together and then you're free.'

There was silence. Victoria had faced the problem
too squarely for two of her guests. Lissa looked
<lreamily towards the garden, wondering where Fritz
was, whether she was wise in loving ; Duckie, con-
scious of her heavy legs and incipient dropsy, blushed,
then paled. Alone, Zoe, stiff and energetic like the
determined business woman she was, wore on her
lips the enigmatic smile born of a nice little sum in
French tlu-ee per cents.

' I must be going,' said Ducky hoarsely. She
levered herself off the sofa. Then, almost silently,
the part}'- broke up.

CHAPTER XIII

Life pursued its even tenour and Victoria, watching
it go by, was reminded of the endless belt of a
macliine. The world machine went on grinding and
every breath she took was grist tliro^vn for ever into
the intolerable mill. It was October again and
already the trees in the garden were shedding fitfl^l
rains of glowing leaves. Alone the elder tree stood
almost unchanged, a SNinbol of the everlasting. Now
and then Victoria walked round the little lawn with
Snoo and Poo, who were too shivery to chase the fat
spiders. Often she stayed there for an hour, one hand
against a tree trunk, looking at nothing, bathed in
the mauve light of the dying year. Already the
scents of decay, of wetness, filled the little garden
and stmck cold when the sun went down.

Every day now Victoria felt her isolation more
cruelly. Solitude was no longer negative ; it had
materialised and had become a solid inimical presence.
When the sun shone and she could wallc the milky
way of the streets, alone but feeling with every sense
the joy of living time, there was not much to fear from
solitude ; tliere were things to look at, to touch, to
smell. Now solitude no longer lurked round corners ;
at times a gust of wind carried its icy breath into her
bones.

She was suffering, too, a little. She felt heavy in
the legs and a vein in her left calf hurt a little in the
evening if she had walked or stood much. Soon,
though it did not increase, the pain became her daily

3i8 A BED OF ROSES

companion, for even when absent it haunted lier.
She wouki await a twinge for a whole day, ready and
fearful, bracing herself np against a shock which
often found her unprepared. At all times too the
obsession seemed to follow her now. Perhaps she
was walking through Regent's Park, buoyant and
feeling capable of lifting a mountain, but the thought
would rush upon her, perhaps it was going to hurt.
She would lie awake too, oblivious of the hea\^
breathing by her side, rested, all her senses asleep,
and then though she felt no pain the fear of it would
come upon her and she would wrestle with the
thought that the blow was about to fall

Sometimes she would go out into the streets,
seeking variety even in a wrangle between her
Pekingese and some other dog. This meant that she
must separate them, apologise to the owner, exchange
perhaps a few words. Once she acliieved a conversa-
tion with an old lady, a kindly soul, the mistress of
a poodle. They walked togetlier along the Canal,
and the futile conversation fell like balm on Victoria's
ears. The fi-eshness of a voice ignorant of double
meanings was soft as dew. They were to meet
again, iDut the old lady was a near neighbour and
she must have heard something of Victoria's reputa-
tion, for when they met again opposite Lord's, the old
lady crossed over and the poodle followed her
hauglitily, leaving Snoo and Poo disconsolate and
wondering on the edge of the pavement.

One morning Augusta came into the boudoir about
twelve, carrj^ing a visiting card on a little traj.

* Miss Emma Welkin,' read Victoria. ' League of the
Plights of Women. What does she want, Augusta? '

' She says she wants to see Mrs Ferris, Mum.'

' League of the Kights of Women ? Why, she
nmst be a suffragist.'

' Yes, Mum. She wear a straw hat, Mum,' ex-
plained Augusta with a slight sniff.

A BED OF ROSES 319

'And a tweed coat and skirt, I suppose,' said
Victoria smiling.

* Oh, yes, Mum. Shall I say go away ? '

* M'm. No, tell her to come in.'

While Augusta was away Victoria settled herself
in the cushions. Perhaps it might be interesting.
The visitor was shown in.

'How do you do?' said Victoria holding out her
hand. ' Please sit down. Excuse my getting up, I'm
not very well.'

Miss Welkin looked about her, mildly surprised.
It was a pretty room, but somehow she felt uncom-
fortable. Victoria was looking at her. A capable
type of feminity this, curious though in its thick
man-like clothes, its strong boots. She was not bad
looking, thirty perhaps, very erect and rather flat.
Her face was fresh, clean, innocent of powder ; her
eyes were steady beliind glasses ; her hair was mostly
invisible, being tightly pulled back. There were
firm lines about her mouth. A fighting animal.

'I hope you'll excuse this intrusion,' said the
suffragist, 'but I got your name from the directory
and I have come to ... to ascertain your views
about the all important question of the vote.' There
was a queer stiltedness about the little speech. Miss
Welkin was addressing the meeting.

'Oh? I'm very much interested,' said Victoria.
' Of course I don't know anything about it except
what I read in the papers.'

The grey eyes glittered. Evangelic fervour radiated
fi-om them. ' That's what we want,' said the suffragist.
' It's just the people who are ready to be our fi-iends
who haven't heard om- side and who get biassed.
Mrs Ferris, I'm sure you'll come in with us and join
the Marylebone branch ? '

' But how can I ? ' asked Victoria. ' You see I know
nothing about it all.'

' Let me give you these pamphlets,' said the

320 A BED OF ROSES

Biiffrapjist. Victoria obediently took a leaflet on the
marriage law, a pamphlet on ' The Rights of Women,'
a few more papers too, some of which slipped to the
floor.

' Thank j'ou,' she said, ' but first of all tell me, why
do you want the vote ? '

The suffragist looked at her for a second. This
might be a keen recruit when she was converted.
Then a flood of words burst from her.

' Oh, how can any woman ask, when she sees the
misery, the subjection in which we live. We say
that we want the vote because it is the only means
we have to attain economic freedom ... we say to
man : put j'our weapon in our hands and we will
show you what we can do. We want to have a voice
in the affairs of the country. We want to say how
the taxes we pay shall be sjjent, how our children
shall be educated, whether our sons shall go to war.
We say it's wrong that we should be disfranchised
because we are women ... it is illogical . . . we
must have it.'

The suffragist stopped for a second to regain
breath.

*I see,' said Victoria, 'but how is the vote going
to help ? '

' Help ? ' echoed Miss Welkin. * It will help because
it will enable women to have a voice in national

affairs.'

' You must think me awfully stupid,' said Victoria
sweetly, ' but what use will it be to us if we do get a
voice in national affairs ? '

Miss Welkin ignored the interruption.

' It is \vYong that we should not have a vote if we
are reasonable beings ; we can be teachers, doctors,
chemists, factoiy inspectors, business managers,
writers, we can sit on local authorities, and we can't
cast a vote for a member of Parliament. It's pre-
posterous, it's . . .'

A BED OF ROSES 32 ^

' Yes, I iinclerstaiKl, but what atHI the vote do for
lis ? Will it raise wages ? '

' It must raise wages. ]\Ien's wages have risen a
lot since they got the vote.'

' Do you think that's because the}' got the vote ? '

' Yes. Well, partly. At any rate there are things
above wages,' said the suffragist excitedly. ' And
you know, Ave know that the vote is wanted especially
because it is an education ; by inducing women to
take an interest in politics we will broaden their
minds, teach them to combine and then automatically
their wages will rise.'

' Oh, yes.' Victoria was rather struck by the
argument. ' Tlien,' she said, ' you admit men are
superior to women ? '

' Well, yes at any rate at present,' said the suffragist
rather sulkily. ' But you must remember that men
have had nearly eighty years training in political
affairs. That's why we want the vote ; to wake women
up. Oh, you have no idea what it will mean when
we get it. We shall have fresh minds bearing on
political problems, we shall have more adequate pro-
tection for women and children, compulsorj feeding,
endowment of mothers, more education, shorter hours,
more sanitar}^ inspection. We shall not be enslaved by
parties ; a nobler influence, the influence of pur3
women will breathe an atmosphere of virtue into this
terrible Avorld.'

The woman's eyes were rapt now% her liands tightly
clenched, her lips parted, her cheeks a little flushed.
But Victoria's face had hardened suddenly.

' Miss Welkin,' she said quietly, ' has anything
strur-k you about this house, about me ? '

The suffragist looked at her uneasily.

' You ought to know whom you are talking to,'
Victoria went on, 'I am a ... I am what you would
probably call . . . well, not respectable.'

A dull red flush spread over Miss Welkin's face,

322 A BED OF ROSES

from the line of lier tiglitly pulled hair to her stiff
white collar ; even her ears went red. She looked
away into a corner.

' You see,' said Victoria, ' it's a shock, isn't it. I
ought not to have let you in. It wasn't quite fair,
was it ? '

' Oh, it isn't that, Mrs Ferris,' burst out the
suffragist, * I'm not thinking of myself. . . .'

' Excuse me, you must. You can't help it. If you
could construct a scale with the maximum of egotism
at one end, and the maximum of altruism at the
other and divide it, say into one hundred degrees, you
would not, I think, place your noblest thinkers more
than a degi'ee or tAvo beyond the egotistic zero. Now
you, a pure girl, have been entrapped into the house
of a woman of no reputation, whom you would not
have in your drawing-room. Now, would you ? '

Miss Welkin was silent for a moment ; the flush
was dying away as she gazed round eyed at this
beautiful woman lying in her piled cushions, talking
like a mathematician.

' I haven't come here to ask you into my drawing-
room,' she answered. 'I have come to ask you to
throw in your labour, your time, j^our money, with
ours in the service of our cause.' She held her head
higher as the thought rose in her like wine. ' Our
cause,' she continued, * is not the cause of rich women
or poor women, of good women or bad, it's the cause
of woman. Thus, it doesn't matter who she is, so
long as there is a woman who stands aloof from us
there is still work to do.'

Victoria looked at her interestedly. Her eyes were
shining, her lips parted in ecstasy.

' Oh, I know what you think,' the suffragist went
on ; 'as you say, you think I despise you because
you . . . you. . . .' The flush returned slightly. . . .
' But I know that yours is not a happy life and we are
bringing the light.'

A BED OF ROSES 323

* The light ! ' echoed Victoria bitterly. ' You have
no idea, I see, of how many people there are wlio are
bringing the light to women like me. There are
various religious organisations who wish to rescue
us and to house us comfortably under the patronage
of the police, to keep us nicely and feed us on what
is suitable for the fallen ; they expect us to sew ten
hours a day for these privileges, but that is by the
way. There are also many kindly old souls who offer
little jobs as charwomen to those of us who are too
worn out to pursue our calling ; we are offered
emigration as servants in exchange for the power of
commanding a household ; we are offered poverty
for luxury, service for domination, slavery to women
instead of slavery to men. How tempting it is !
And now here is the light in another form : the right
to drop a bit of paper into a box every four years or
so and to settle thereby whether the Home Secretary
who administers the law of my trade shall live in fear
of buff prejudice or blue.'

The suffragist said nothing for a second. She felt
shaken by Victoria's bitterness.

' Women will have no party,' she said lamely,
' they will vote as women.'

' Oh ? I have heard somewhere that the danger of
giving women the vote is that they will vote solid " as
women," as you say and swamp the men. Is that so ? *

' No, I'm afraid not,' said the suffragist unguardedly,
* of course women will split up into political parties.'

' Indeed ? Then where is this woman vote which
is going to remould the world? It is swamped in
the ordinary parties.'

The suffragist was in a dilemma.

' You forget,' she answered, wriggling on the
horns, ' that women can always be aroused for a noble
cause. . . .'

' Am I a noble cause ? ' asked Victoria, smiling.
^ So far as I can see women, even the highest of them,

324 A BED OF ROSES

despise us because we do illegally what they do
legally, hate us because we attract, envy us because
we shine. I have often thought that if Chiist had
said, " Let her who hath never sinned . . ." Magdalene
would have l)een stoned. What do you think? '

The suffragist hesitated, cleared her throat.

'That will all go when we have the vote, women
will be a force, a nobler force ; they will realise . . .
they will sympathise more . . . then they will cast
their A^ote for women.'

Victoria shook her head.

'^liss Welkin,' she said, 'you are an idealist.
Now, will you ask me to your next meeting if you
are satisfied as to my vieAvs, announce me for what I
am and introduce me to jj-our committee ? '

'I don't see ... I don't think,' stammered the
suffragist, ' you see some of our committee. . . . '

Victoria laughed.

' You see. Never mind. I assure you I woiddn't
go. But, tell me, supposing women get the vote,
most of my class will be disfranchised on the present
registration law. What will you women do for us? '

The suffragist thought for a minute.

' We shall raise the condition of women,' she said,
* We shall give them a new status, increase the respect
of men for them, increase their respect for them-
selves ; besides it will raise wages and that will help.
We shall . . . we shall have better means of
reform too.'

' What means ? '

' When Avomen have more sympathy.'

' Votes don't mean sympatln*.'

' Well, intelligence then. Oh, Mrs Ferris, it's not
that that matters ; we're going to the root of it.
We're going to make women equal to men, give them
the same opportunities, the same rights. . . .'

' Yes, but will the vote increase their muscles ? will
it make them more logical, fitter to earn their living? '

A BED OF ROSES 32S

' Of course it Avill,' said Miss Welkin acidly.

' Tlien liow do you explain tliat several millions of
men earn less than tliirty sliillings a week, and
that at times hundreds of thousands are un-
employed ? '

' The vote does not mean everything,' said the
suflragist reluctantly. 'It will merely ensure that
we rise like the men when we are fit.'

' Well, Miss Welkin, I won't press tliat, but now,
tell me, if women got the vote to-morrow, Avhat would
it do for my class ? '

' It would raise. . . .'

'No, no, we can't wait to be raised. We've got to
live and if you " raise " us we lose our means of liveli-
hood. How are you going to get' to the root cause
and lift us, not the next generation, at once out of
the lower depths ? '

The suffragist's face contracted.

' Everything takes time,' she faltered. ' Just as
I couldn't promise a charwoman that her hours would
go down and her wages go up next day, I can't say
that ... of course your case is more difficult than
any other, because . . . because. . . .'

' Because,' said Victoria coldly, ' I represent a social
necessity. So long as your economic system is such
that there is not work for the asking for every human
being, work, mark you, fitted to strength and ability,
so long on the other hand as there is such uncertainty
as prevents men from marrying, so long as there is
a leisured class who draw luxury from the labour of
other men, so long will my class endure as it endured
in Athens, in Rome, in Alexandria, as it does now
from St John's Wood to Pekin.'

There was a pause. Then Miss Welkin got up
awkwardly. Victoria followed suit.

'There,' she said, ' you don't mind my being frank,
do you ? May I subscribe this sovereign to the funds
of the branch? I do believe vou are right, vou

Z26 A BED OF ROSES

know, even tliougli I'm not sure the niillenimii is
coming.'

]\Iiss Welkin looked donbifully at tlie coin in her
palm.

' Don't refuse it,' said Victoria, smiling, 'after all,
you know, in politics there is no tainted money.'

CHAPTER XIV

Victoria lay back in bed, gazing at tlie blue silk wall.
It was ten o'clock but still dark ; not a sound dis-
turbed dominical peace, except the rain dripping
from the trees, falling finallj^ like the strokes
of time. Her ej'^es dwelled for a moment
on the colour prints where the nude beauties
languished. She felt desperately tired, though she
had not left the house for thirty-six hours ; her
weariness was as much a consequence as a cause of
her consciousness of defeat. October was w^earing
and soon the cruel w^inter w-ould come and fix its
fangs into the sole remaining joy of her life, the
spectacle of life itself. She was desperately tired,
full of hatred and disgust. If the face of a man rose
before her she thrust it back savagely into limbo ;
her legs hurt. The time had come when she must
realise her failure. She was not, as once in the
P. R. R., in the last stage of exhaustion, hunted,
tortured ; she was rather the wounded bird crawling
away to die in a thicket than the brute at bay.

As she lay she realised that her failure had two
aspects. It was together a monetary and a physical
failure. The last three months had in themselves
been easy. Her working hours did not begin before
seven o'clock in the evening and it was open to her,
being young and beautiful, to put them off for two
or three hours more ; she was always free by twelve
o'clock in the morning at the very latest and then
the day w^as hers to rest, to read and think. But she

328 A BED OF ROSES

was still too iimcli of a novice to escape the excite-
ment inherent to the chase, the strain of making
conversation, of facing the inane ; nor was she able
witliout a mental effort to bring herself to the re-
sponse of the simulator. xVs she sat in the Vesuvius
or stared into the showcase of a Regent Street
jeweller, a faint smile upon her face, her brain was
awake, her faculties at high pressure. Her eyes
roved right and left and every nerve seemed to dance
with expectation or disappointment. AVhen she got
up now, she found her body heavy, her legs sore and
all her being dull like a worn stone. A little more,
she felt, and the degradation of her body would
spread to her sweet lucidity of mind ; she would no
longer see ultimate ends but would be engulfed in
the present, become a bird of prey seeking hungrily
pleasure or excitement.

Besides, and this seemed more serious still, she
was not doing well. It seemed more serious because
this could not be fought as could be intellectual
brutalisation. An examination of her pass books
show^ed that she was a little better off than at the
time of Cairns' death. She Avas worth, all debts paid,
about three hundred and ninety jDounds. Her net
sa^dngs were therefore at the rate of about a hundred
and fifty a year, but she had been wonderfully lucky
and nothing said that age, illness or such mis-
adventures as she classed under professional risk,
might not nullify her efforts in a week. There was
wear and tear of clothes too : the trousseau presented
her by Cairns had been good throughout but some of
the linen was beginning to show signs of wear ; boots
and shoes wanted renewing ; there were winter
garments to buy and new furs.

'I shall have stone martin,' she reflected. Then
her mind ran complacently for a while on a picture of
herself in stone martin ; a pity she couldn't run to
sables. She brought herself back with a jerk to her

A BED OF ROSES 329

consideration of ways and means. The situation was
really not brilliant. Of course she was extravagant
in a way. Eighty five pounds rent, thirty pounds in
rates and taxes, without counting income tax which
might be anything, for she dai'ed not j^rotest, two
servants, all that was too much. It was quite
impossible to run the house under five hundred a
year and clothes must run into an extra hundred.

'I could giA^e it up,' she thought. But the idea
disappeared at once. A flat would be cheaper but it
meant unending diflicidties ; it was not for nothing
that Zoe, Lissa and Duckie envied her. And the
rose-covered pergola ! Besides, it would mean saving
a hundred a year or so and, from her point of view,
even two hundred and fifty a year was not worth
saving. She was nearly twenty-eight and could
count on no more than between eight and twelve
years of great attractiveness. This meant that, wdth
the best of luck, she could not hope to amass much more
than three thousand pounds. And then? Weston-
super-Mare and thirty years in a boarding house ?

She was still full of hesitation and doubt as she
greeted Betty at lunch. This was a great Sunda}^
treat for the gentle P. R. E. girl. When she had
taken off her coat and hat she used to settle in an
arm-chair with an intimate feeling of peace and pro-
tection. This particular day Betty did not settle
down as usual, tliough the cushions looked soft and
tempting and a clear fire burned in the grate.
Victoria watched her for a moment. How exquisite
and delicate this girl looked, tall, very slim and
rounded. Betty had placed one hand on the mantle-
piece, a small long hand rather coarsened at the
finger tips, one foot on the fender. It w^as a little
foot, arched and neat in the cheap boot. She had
bought new boots for the occasion ; the middle of
the raised sole was still white. Her face was a little
flushed, her eyes darkened by the glow.

330 A BED OF ROSES

' Well, Betty,' said her hostess suddenl}-, ' wlien's
the wedding ? '

' Oh, Vic, I didn't say . . . how can you. . . .'
Her face had blushed a tell-tale red,

'You didn't say,' laughed Victoria, 'of course j^ou
didn't say, sli}' bird. But surely you don't think I
don't know. You've met somebody in the City and
you're frightfully in love with liim. Now, honest, is
there anybody ? '

' Yes . . . there is, but . . .'

' Of course there is. Now, Betty, tell me all about it.'

' Oh, I couldn't,' said Betty, gazing into the fire.
' You see it isn't quite settled yet.'

' Then tell me what you're going to settle. First
of all, who is it ? '

' Nobody you know. I met him at . . . well he
followed me in Finsbury Circus one evening. . . .'

* Oh, naughty, naughty. You're getting on, Betty.'

' You mustn't think I encouraged him,' said Betty
with a tinge of asperity. ' I'm not that sort.' She
stopped, remembering Victoria's profession, then, in-
consequentl}- : ' You see, he wouldn't go away and
, . . now. . . .'

' And he was rather nice, wasn't he ? '

' Well, rather.' A faint and very sweet smile came
over Betty's face. Victoria felt a little strangle in her
throat. She too had thought her bold partner at the
regimental dance at Lympton rather nice. Poor old
Dick.

' Tlien he got out of me about the P. R. R.,' Betty
went on more confidently. ' And then, would you
believe it, he came to lunch everj" day. Not that he
was accustomed to lunch at places like that,' she
added complacently.

' Oh, a swell ? ' said Victoria.

' No, I don't say that. He used to go to the Lethes,
before they shut up. He lives in the West End too,
in Notting Hill, you know.'

A BED OF ROSES 33^

'Dear, dear, you're flying higli, Betty. But tell
me, what is he like? and what does he do? and is
he very handsome ? '

' Oh, he's awfully handsome, Vic. Tall you know
and very, very dark ; he's so gentlemanly too, looks
like the young man in First Words of Love. It's a
lovely picture, isn't it? '

'Yes, lovely,' said Victoria summarily. 'But tell
me more about him.'

'He's twenty-eight. He works in the City. He's
a ledger clerk at Anderson and Dromo's. If he gets a
rise this Christmas, he . . . well, he says . . .'

' He says he'll marry you.'

' Yes.' Betty hung her head, then raised it quickly.
* Oh, Vic, I can't believe it. It's too good to be true.
I love him so dreadfully. ... I just can't wait for
one o'clock. He didn't come on Wednesday. I
thought he'd forgotten me and I was going off my
head. But it was all right, they'd kept him in over
something.'

'Poor little girl,' said Victoria gently. 'It's hard
isn't it, but good too.'

* Good ! Vic, when he kisses me I feel as if I were
going to faint. He's strong, you see. And when he
puts his aims round me I feel like a mouse in a trap
. . . but I don't want to get away : I want it to go on
for ever, just like that.'

She paused for a moment as if listening to the
first words of love. Then her mind took a practical
turn.

' Of course we shan't be able to live in Notting Hill,'
she added. ' We'll have to go further out, Shepherd's
Bush way, so as to be on the Tube. And he says I
shan't go to the P.R.R. any more.'

' Happy girl,' said Victoria. ' I'm so glad, Betty ;
I hope , , .'

She restrained a doubt. ' And as you say you can't
stay to tea I think I know where you're going.'

332 A BED OF ROSES

' Well, 3'es, I am going to meet him,' said Betty
laughing.

' Yes . . , and you're going to look at little houses
at Shepherd's Bush.'

Betty looked up dreamily. She could see a two-
storeyed house in a roAv, with a bay window and a
front garden where, winter or summer, marigolds grew.

After Imich, as the two women sat once more in the
boudoir, they said very little. Victoria, from time to
time, flicked the ash from her cigarette. Betty did
not smoke but, her hands clasped together in her lap,
watched a handsome dark face in the coals.

'And how are you getting on, Vic?' she asked
suddenly. Swam^Ded b}- the impetuous tide of her
own romance she had not as yet shown any interest in
her friend's affairs.

'I ? Oh, nothing special. Pretty fair.'

' But, I mean . . . you said you wanted to make a
lot of money and . . .'

' Yes, I'm not badly off, but I can't go on, Betty.
I shall never do any good like this.'

Bett}' was silent for some minutes. Her ingrained
modesty made any discussion of her friend's profession
intolerable. Vanquished in argimient, grudgingly
accepting the logic of Victoria's actions, she could not
free ]ier mind fi-om the thought that these actions
were repulsive, that there must have been some
other way.

* Oh ? You want to get out of it all . . . \'ou know
... I have never said you weren't quite right,
but . . .|

' But I'm quite wrong?'

' No . . .1 don't mean that ... I don't like to say
that . . . I'm not clever like you, Vic, but . . .'

'We've done with all that,' said Victoria coldly.
' I do want to get out of it because it's getting me no
nearer to what I want. I don't quite know how to
do it. I'm not very well, you know.'

A BED OF ROSES 333

Belt}' looked up quickly with concern in her face.

' Have those veins been troubling you again ? '

' Yes, a little. I can't risk much more.'

' Then what are you going to do? '

Victoria was silent for a moment,

' 1 don't know,' she said. ' I never thought of all
this when the Major was alive.'

' Ah, there never w-as anybody like him,' said
Betty after a pause.

Victoria sat up suddenly.

' Betty,' she cried, ' vou're giving me an idea.'

'I? an idea?'

' There must be somebody like him. Why shouldn't
I find him?'

Betty said nothing. She looked her stiffest,
relishing but little the fathering upon her of this
expedient.

' But who ? ' soliloquised Victoria. ' I don't knoAv
anybody. You see Bett}', I want lots and lots of
money. Otherwise it's no good. If I don't make a
lot soon it will be too late.'

Betty still said nothing. Really she couldn't be
expected. . . . Then her conscience smote her ; she
ought to show" a little interest in dear, kind Vic.

' Yes,' she said. ' But 3-ou must know lots of
people. You never told me, but you're a swell and
all that. You must have known lots of rich men
when you came to London.'

She stopped abruptly, shocked by her own audacity.
But Victoria was no longer noticing her ; she was
following with lightning speed a new train of
thought.

'Betty,' she cried, 'you've done it. I've found
the man.'

' Have you ? AVho is it ? ' exclaimed Betty. She
was excited, unable in her disapproval of the irregular
to feel uninterested in the coming together of women
and men.

334 A BED OF ROSES

' Never mind. You don't know liim. I'll tell you
later.'

An extraordinary buoyancy seemed to pervade
Victoria. The way out, she had fomid the way out.
And the two little words echoed in her brain as if
some mighty wave of sound was rebounding from
side to side in her skull. She was excited, so excited
that, as she said goodbye to Betty, she forgot to fix
their next meeting. She had work to do and would
do it that very night.

As soon as Betty was gone she dressed quickly.
Then she changed her hat to make sure she was
looking her best. She went out and, with hurried
steps, made for the Finchley Road. There was the
house with the evergi-eens, as well clipped as ever, and
t|ie drive Avitli its clean gravel. She ran up the steps
of the porch, then hesitated for a moment. Her heart
was beating now. Then she rang. There was a very
long pause during which she heard nothing but the
pimiping of her heart. Then distant shufQing foot-
steps coming nearer. The door opened. She saw a
slatternly woman . . . behind her the void of an
empty house. She could not speak for emotion.

' Did you want to see the house, mum? ' asked the
woman. She looked sour. Sunday afternoon was
hardly a time to view.

'The house?'

* Oh ... I thought you come from Belfi'ej^'s, mum.
It's to let.'

The caretaker nodded towards the right and
Victoria, following the direction, saw the house
agents' board. Her excitement fell as under a cold
douche.

' Oh ! I came to see. . . . Do you know where
Mr Holt is?'

'Mr Holt's dead, mum. Died in August, mum.'

'Dead?' Things seemed to go round. Jack was
the only son . . . then ?

A BED OF ROSES 335

' Yes, mum. That's why tlioy're letting. A fine
big 'ouse, mnm. Died in August, mum. Ah, you
should have seen the funeral. They say he left half a
million, mum, and there wasn't no will.'

' Where is Mrs Holt and . . . and ]\Ir Holt's son.'
The caretaker eyed the visitor suspiciously. There
was something rakish about this young lady which
frightened her respectability.

* I can't say, mum,' she answered slowly. ' I could
forward a letter mum,' she added.

' Let me come in. I want to write a note.'
The caretaker hesitated for a moment, then stood
aside to let her pass.

* You'll 'ave to come downstairs mum,' she said,
* sorrj^ I'm all mixed up. I was doing a bit of washing.
Git away Maria,' to a small child who stood at the top
of the stairs.

In the gaslit kitchen, surrounded by steaming linen,
Victoria wrote a little feverish note in pencil. The
caretaker watched her every movement. She liked
her better somehow.

'I'll forward it all right, mum,' she said. 'Thank
yoii mum. , . . Oh, miun, I don't want you to think — '
She was looking amazedly at the half sovereign in her
palm.

'That's all right,' said Victoria, laughing loudly.
She felt she must laugh, dance, let herself go. ' Just
post it before twelve,'

The woman saw her to the door. Then she looked
at the letter doubtfully. It was freshly sealed and
could easily be opened. Then she had a burst of
loyalty, put on a battered bonnet, completed the
address, stamped the envelope and, walking to
the pillar box round the corner, played Victoria's
trump card.

CHAPTER XV

* And so, Jack, you haven't forgotten me ? '

For a minute Holt did not ans^ver. He seemed
spellbound by the woman on the sofa. There she
lay at full length, lazy grace in every curve of her
figure, in the lines of her limbs revealed by tlie thin
sea green stuff which moulded them. This new
woman was a very wonderful thing.

' No,' he said at length, ' but vou have changed.'

'Yes?'

' You're different. You used to be simple, ahnost
shy. I used to think you very like a big white lily.
Now you're like — like a big white orchid — an orchid
in a vase of jade.'

' Poet, artist,' laughed Victoria. ' Ah, Jack, you'll
alwaj^s be the same. Always thinking me good and
the world beautiful.'

' I'll always think you good and beautiful too.'

Victoria looked at him. He had hardly changed
at all. His tall thin frame had not expanded, his
hands were still beautifully white and seemed as
aristocratic as ever. Perhaps his mouth appeared
weaker, his eyes bluer, his face fairer owing to his
black clothes.

'I'm glad to see you again, Kathleen ]Mavourneen,'
she said at length.

' Wliy did you wait so long? ' asked Holt. ' It was
cruel, cruel. You know what I said — I would — '

'No, no,' interrupted Victoria fearing an avowal.
' I couldn't. I've been through the mill. Oh, Jack,

336

A BED OF ROSES 337

it was awfiil. I've been cold, liuiigiy, ill; I've
worked ten yours a day— I've swabbed floors.'

A hot flush rose in Holt's fair cheeks.

' Horrible,' he whispered, ' but why didn't j-ou tell
me. I'd have helped, you know I Avould.'

' Yes, I know, but it wouldn't have done. No,
Jack, it's no good helping women. You can help
men a bit, but women, no. You only make them
more dependent, weaker. If women are the poor,
frivolous, ignorant things they are it's because they've
been protected or told they ouglit to want to be
protected. Besides, I'm proud. I wasn't coming
back to vou until I was — well I'm not exactly rich,
but—'

She indicated the room with a nod and Holt,
following it, sank deeper into wonder at the room
where everything spoke of culture and comfort.

' But how — ? ' he stammered at last, ' how did
you — ? what happened then ? '

Victoria hesitated for a moment.

' Don't ask me just now. Jack,' she said, ' I'll tell
j^ou later. Tell me about yourself. AVliat are you
doing? and where is your mother? '

Holt looked at her doubtfuUj'. He would have
liked to cross question her, but he Avas the second
generation of a rising family and had learned tliiit
questions must not be pressed.

'Mother? ' he said vaguely. ' Oh, she's gone back
to Rawsley. She never was happy here. She went
back as soon as pater died ; she missed the tea fights,
you know, and Bethlehem and all that.'

' It must have been a shock to you when your
father died.'

'Yes, I ruppose it was. The old man and I didn't
exactly hit it off but, somehow — those things make
you realise — '

' Yes, yes,' said Victoria s^mipathetically. The
similarity of deaths among the middle classes !

338 A BED OF ROSES

Every woman in the regiment had told her that
* these things make you realise ' when Dicky died.
' But what about you ? Are you still in — in cement ? '

* In cement ! ' Jack's lip curled. ' The day my
father died I was out of cement. It's rather awful,
you know, to think that my freedom depended on his
death.'

' Oh, no, life depends on death,' said Victoria
smoothly. ' Besides we are members of one another
and when, like you Jack, we are a minority, we suffer.'

Holt looked at her doubtfully. He did not quite
understand her ; she had hardened, he thought.

* No,' he went on, ' I've done with the business.
They turned it into a limited liability company a
month ago. I'm a director because the others say
they must have a Holt in it, but directors never do
anything, you know.'

' And you are going to do like the charwoman,
going to do nothing, nothing for ever? '

' No, I don't say that. I've been writing — verses
you know, and some sketches.'

* Writing ? You must be happy now Jack. Of
course you'll let me see them? Are they published ? '

' Yes. At least Amershams will bring out some
sonnets of mine next month.'

'And are you going to pass the rest of your life
writing sonnets ? '

' No, of course not. I want to travel. I'D. go
South this winter and get some local colour. I might
write a novel.'

His head was thrown back on the cushion, looking
out upon the blue southern sky, the bluer waters
speckled as with foam by remote white sails.

' You might give me a cigarette. Jack,' said
Victoria. ' They're in that silver box, there.'

He handed her the box and struck a match. As
he held it for her his eyes fastened upon the shapely
whiteness of her hands, her pink polished finger

A BED OF ROSES 339

nails, the rouiulness of lier forearm. vSoft feminine
scents rose from her hair ; he saw the dark tendrils
over the nape of her neck. Oh, to bury his lips in
that warm white neck ! His hand trembled as he
lit his own cigarette and Victoria marked his
heightened colour.

' You'll come and see me often, Jack, won't you ? '

' May I ? It's so good of you. I'm not going South
for a couple of months.

'Yes, you can always telephone. You'll find me
there under Mrs Ferris.'

Holt looked at her once more.

' I don't want you to think I'm prying. But, you
wi'ote me saying I was to ask for Mrs Ferris. I did,
of cou]-se, but, you . . . you're not. . . . ? '

'Married? No, Jack. Don't ask me anything
else. You shall know everything soon.'

She got up and stood for a moment beside his
chair. His eyes were fixed on her hands.

' There,' she said, ' come along and let me shew \^ou
the house, and my pictui-es, and my pack of hounds.'

He followed her obediently, giving its meed of
praise to all her possessions. He did not care for
animals ; he lacked the generation of culture which
leads fi-om cement making to a taste for dogs. The
French engravings on the stairs surprised him a little.
He had a strain of puritanism in him running straight
from Bethlehem, which even the reading of Swinburne
and Baudelaire had not quite eradicated. A vague
sense of the fitness of things made him think that
somehow these were not the pictures a lady should
hang ; she might keep them in a portfolio. Other-
wise, there were the servants. . . .

' And Avhat do you tliink of my bedroom?' asked
Victoria opening the door suddenly.

Holt stood nervously on the threshold. He took in
its details one by one, the blue paper, the polished
mahogany, the flowered chintzes, the long glass, the

340 A BED OF ROSES

lace curtains; it all looked so comfortable, so
luxurious as to eclipse easily the rigidly good but
ugly things he had been used to from birth onwards.
He looked at the dressing table too, covered with its
many bottles and bmshes ; then he started slightly
and again a hot flush rose over his cheeks. With an
effort he detaclied his eyes from the horrid thing
he saw.

'Very pretty, very pretty,' he gasped. Without
waiting for Victoria he turned and went downstairs.

Within the next week they met again. Jack took
no notice of her for four days, and then suddenly
telephoned asking her to dine and to come to the
theatre. She was still in bed and she felt low
spirited, full of fear that her trump would not make.
She accepted with an alacrity that she regi-etted a
minute later, but she was drowning and could not
dally with the lifebelt. Her preparation for the
dinner was as elaborate as that which had heralded
her capture of Cairns, far more elaborate than any she
made for the Vesuvius where insolent iDeauty is
a greater asset than beauty as sucli. This time she
put on her mauve frock with the heavily embroidered
silver shoulder straps ; she wore little jewellery, merely
a necklet of chased old silver and amethysts,^ and a
ring figuring a silver chimera with tiny diamond
eyes. As she surveyed herself in the long glass the
holy calm which comes over the perfectly dressed
flowed into her noul like a river of honey. She was
immaculate, and from her unlined white forehead to
her jewel-buckled shoes, she was beautiful in every
detail. Subtle scent followed hsr like a train
bearer.

The entire evening was a tribute. From the
moment wlien Holt set eyes upon her and reluctantly
withdrew them to direct the cabman until they drove
back through the night, she was conscious of the
wave of adulation that broke at her feet. Men's

A BED OF ROSES 341

eyes followed her ever}- movement, drank in every
rise and fall of her breast, strove to catch sight of her
teeth, flashing white, ruby cased. Her progress
tlii-ongh the dining hall and the stalls was imperial
in its command. As she saw men turn to look at her
again, women even grudgingly analyse her, as
homage rose round her like incense, she felt
friglitened ; for this seemed to be her triumphant
night, the zenith of her beauty and power, and
perhaps its very intensity showed that it was her
swan song. She felt a pain in her left leg.

Jack Holt passed that evening at her feet. A
fearfid exultation was upon him. The neighbour-
hood of Victoria was magnetic ; his heart, his senses,
his aesthetic sense were equally enslaved. She
realised everything he had dreamed, beauty, cidture,
grace, gentle wit. It hurt him physically not to tell
that he loved her still, that he wanted her, that she
was everything. He revelled in the thought that he
had found her again, that she liked him, that he
would see her whenever he wanted to, perhaps join
his life with hers ; then fear gripped his uneven soul,
fear that he was only her toy, that now she was rich
she would tire of him and cast him out into a world
swept by the icy blasts of regret. And all through
ran the horribly suggestive memory of that which he
had seen on the dressing table.

Victoria was conscious of all this storm though
unable to interpret its squalls and its lulls. Without
effort she played upon him, alternately encouraging
the pretty you.th, bending towards him to read his
programme so that he could feel her breath on his
cheek, and drawing up and becoming absorbed in
the play. In the darkness she felt his hand close
over hers ; gently but firmly she freed herself. As
they drove back to St John's Wood they hardly
exchanged a word. Victoria felt tired, for in the
dark, away from the crowds, the music, the admiration

342 A BED OF ROSES

of her fellows, reaction had full play. Holt found he
could say nothing, for every nerve in his body was
tense with excitement. A hundred words were on
his lips but he dared not breathe them for fear of
breaking the spell.

'Come ill and have a whisky and soda before you
go,' said Victoria in a matter of fact tone as he opened
the garden gate.

He could not resist. A wonderful feeling of intimacy
overwhelmed him as he watched her switch on the
lights and bring out a decanter, a syphon and glasses.
She put them on the table and motioned him towards
it, placing one foot on the fender to warm herself
before tlie glowing embers. His eyes did not leave
hers. There was a surge of blood in his head. One
of his hands fixed on her bare arm ; with the other
he drew her towards him, crushed her against his
breast ; slie lay unresisting in his arms while he
covered her lijDs, her neck, her shoulders with hot
kisses, some quick and passionate, others lingering,
full of tenderness. Then she gently repulsed him
and fi-eed herself.

'Jack,' she said softly, 'you shouldn't have done
that. You don't know . . . you don't know . . .'

He drew his hand over his forehead. His brain
seemed to clear a little. The maddening mystery of
it all formed into a question.

' Victoria, why are those two razors on your dressing
table?' ^

She looked at him a brief space. Then, very
quietly, with the deliberation of a surgeon,

' Xeed you ask : Do you not understand what
I am?'

His eyes went up towards tlie ceihng ; his hands
clenched ; ^a queer choked sound escaped from his
throat. Victoria saw him suffer, wounded as an
aesthete, wounded in his traditional conception of
purity, prejudiced, ununderstanding. For a second

A BED OF ROSES 343

she hated him as one hates a howling dog on whose
paw one has trodden.

* Oh,' he gasped, ' oh.'

Victoria watched him through her downcast eye-
lashes. Poor boy, it had to come. Pandora had
opened the chest. Then he looked at her again with
returning sanity,

'Why didn't you tell me before? I can't bear it.
You, whom I thoiight. ... I can't bear it.'

'Poor boy.' She took his hand. It was hot and dry.

' I can't bear it,' he repeated dully.

' I had to. It was the only wa.j.'

' There is alwaj^s a way. It's avrful.' His voice
broke.

' Jack,' she said softly, ' the world's a hard place
for women. It takes from them either hard labour
or gratification. I've done my best. For a whole
year I worked. I worked ten hours a day, I've
starved almost, I've swabbed floors ..."

He withdrew his hand with a jerk. He could bear
that even less than her confession.

' Then a man came,' she went on relentlessly, ' a
good man who offered me ease, peace, happiness,
I was poor, I was ill. What coukl I do ? Then he
died and I Avas alone. What could I do ? Ah, don't
believe mine is a bed of roses. Jack ! '

He had turned away and was looking into the
dying fire. His ideals, his prejudices, all were in
the melting pot. Here was the woman who had been
his earliest dream, degraded, irretrievably soiled.
Whatever happened he could not forget ; not even
love could break down the terrific barrier which
generations of hard and honest men of Rawsley had
erected in his soul between straight women and the
others. But she was the dream still, beautiful, alL
that his heart desired, such that, and he felt it like
an awful taunt, he could not give her up.

He looked at her, at her sorrowful face. No, lie

344 A BED OF ROSES

could not let her pass out of liis life. He thought of
disjointed things. He could see his mother's face,
the black streets of Rawsley ; he thought of the
pastor at Bethlehem denouncing sin. All his standards
were jarred. He had nothing to hold on to while
everj'thing seemed to slip, ideals, resolutions, dreams ;
nothing remained save the horrible sweetness of the
memiaid's face.

' Let me think,' he said hoarsely, ' let me think.'

Victoria said nothing. He was in hands stronger
than hers. He was fighting his tradition, the blood
of the Covenanters, for her sake. Nothing that she
could say would help him ; it might impede him.
He had turned away ; she could see nothing of his
face. Then he looked into her eyes.

'What was can never be again,' he said; 'what
I dreamed can never be. You were my beacon and
my hope. I have only foiind you to lose you. If
I were to marry you there would always be that
between us, the past.'

' Then do not marry me. I do not ask you to.'
Her voice went down to a whisper and she put her
hands on his shoulders. ' Let me be another, a new
dream, less golden, but sweet.'

She put her face almost against his, gazing into
his eyes. ' Do not leave this house and I will be
everj^thing for you.'

She felt a shudder run through him as if he would
repel her but she did not relax her hold or her gaze.
She drew nearer to him and inch by inch his arms
went round her. For a second they swayed close
locked together. As they fell into the deep arm chair
her loose black hair uncoiled and, falling, buried
their faces in its shadow.

CHAPTER XVI

The months which followed emerged but slowly from
blankness for these two w^ho had joined their lives
together. Both had a difficulty in realising, the
w'oman that she had laid the coping stone of her
career, the man that he was happy as may be an
opium eater. The first days were electric, hectic.
Victoria felt limp, for her nerves had been worn down
by the excitement and the anxiety of making sure of
her conquest. The reaction left her rather depressed
than glowing with success. Jack was beyond
scruples ; he felt that he had passed the Rubicon.
He w^as false to his theories and his ideals, in revolt
against his upbringing. At the outset he revelled in
the thought that he was cutting himself adrift from
the ugly past. It was joyful to think that the pastor
in his whitewashed barn Avould covertly select him
as a text. For the first time in his fettered life he
saw that the outlaw alone is free ; both he and
Victoria were outlaws, Imt she had tasted the bitter-
ness of ostracism while he was still at the stage of
welcoming it.

As the weeks wore, however, Victoria realised her
position better and splendid peace flow^ed in upon her.
She did not love Holt ; she began even to doubt
w^hether she could love any man if she could not love
him, this handsome j^outh with the delicate soul,
grace, generosity. It Avas not his mental weakness
that repelled her, for he was virile enough ; nor was
it the touch of provincialism against which his

346 A BED OF ROSES

intelligence struggled. It was rather that he did
not attract her. He was clever enoiigli, well read,
kind, but he lacked magnetism ; he liad nothing of
the slumbrous fire which distinguished Farwell.
His passion was personal, his outlook theoretical and
limited ; there was nothing purposeful in his ideas.
He had no message for her. In no wise did he repel
her though. Sometimes she would take his face
between her hands, look awhile into the blue eyes
where there always liu'ked some wistfulness, and then
kiss him just once and quickly, without knowing
why.

' Why do you do that, Vicky ? ' he asked onc€.

She had not answered but had merely kissed his
cheek again. She hardly knew how to tell him that
she sighed because slie could only consent to love
him instead of offering to do so. While he was sunk
in his daily growing ease she was again thinking of
ultimate ends and despised herself a little for it. She
had to be alone for a while before she could regain
self control, remember the terrible t}Tanny of man
and her resolve to be fi*ee. Gentle Jack was a man,
one of the oppressors, and as such he must be used
as an instrument against his sex. The very ease with
which she swayed him, with which she could foresee
her victory, unnerved her a little. When she answered
his hesitating question as to how much she needed
to live she had to force herself to lie, to trade on his
enslavement by asking him for two thousand a year.
She dared to name the figure, for Wliitaker told her
that the onlj^ son of an intestate takes two-thirds of
the estate ; the book had also put her on the track of
the registration of joint-stock companies. A visit to
Somerset House enabled her to discover that some
three hundred thousand shares of Holt's Cement
Works, Ltd., stood in the name of John Holt ; as they
were quoted in tlie paper something above par he
could hardly be worth less than fifteen thousand a year.

A BED OF ROSES 347

She had expected to have to explain her needs, to
haA'e to exaggerate her rent, the cost of her clotlies,
but Holt did not say a word beyond ' all right.' She
had told him it hurt her to take money from him and
that, so as to avoid the subject, she would like him to
tell his bankers to pay the montlily instalments into
her account. He had agreed and then talked of their
trip to the South. Clearly the whole matter was
repugnant to him. As neither wanted to talk about
it the subject was soon almost forgotten.

They left England early in December after shutting
up the house. Victoria did not care to leave it in
charge of Laura, so decided to give her a tliree
months' holiday on full pay ; Augusta accompanied
them. Tlie sandy haired German was delighted vrith
the change in the fortunes of her mistress. She felt
that Holt must be very rich and doubted not that her
dowiy would derive some benefit from him. Snoo
and Poo were left in Laura's charge. Victoria i^aid
a quarter's rent in advance, also the rates, insured
against burglar}'- and left England as it settled into
the winter night.

The next three months were probably the most
steadily happ}^ she had ever kno^^m. They had taken
a small house known as the Villa Mehari just outside
Algiers. A French cook and a taciturn Kabyl com-
pleted their establishment. The villa was a curious
compromise between East and West. Its architect
had turned out similar ones in scores at Argenteuil
and Saint Cloud, saving the minaret and the deep
verandah which faced the babny west. From the
precipitous little garden where orange and lime trees
bent beneath their fruit among the underbrush of
aloes and cactus, they could see, far away, the
estranging sea.

The Kabyl had slimg a hammock for Victoria
between a gate post and a gigantic clump of palm
trees. There she passed most of her days, lazily

3-iS A BED OF ROSES

swinging in tlie breeze wliicli tumbled her black hair,
while Jack, lying at her feet in the crisp rough grass,
looked long at her sun warmed beauty. The days
seemed to fly, for they were hardly conscious of the
recurrence of life. It was sunrise, when it was good
to go out into the garden and see the blue green
night blush softly into salmon pink, then burst
suddenly into tropical radiance : then, vague occupa-
tions, a short walk over stony paths to a cafe where
the East and West met ; unexpected food ; sleep
in the heat of the day under the nets beyond which
the crowding flies buzzed ; then the waning of the
day, tlie heat settling more leaden ; sunset, the cold
snapping suddenly, the night wind carrying little
puffs of dust and the muezzin, hands aloft, droning,
his face towards the East, praises of his God.

Holt was totally happy. He felt he had reached
Capua and not even a thought of his past life could
disturb him. He asked for nothing now but to live
without a thought, eating juicy fi'uit, smoking for
iin hour the subtle narghile ; he loved to bask in the
radiance of the African sun, of Victoria's beauty which
seemed to expand, to enwrap him in perfume like a
heavy narcotic rose. In the early days he tried to
work, to attune himself to the pageant of sunlit
life. His will refused to act and he found he could
not write a line ; even rhymes refused to come to him.
Without an effort almost he resigned himself into the
soft hands of the East. He even exaggerated his
acceptance by clothing himself in a burnous and
turban, by trying to introduce Mgerian food, couscous,
roast kid, date jam, pomegranate jelly. i\t times they
would go into Algiers, shop in the Rue Bab-Azoum,
or search for the true East in what the French called
the liigh town. But Algiers is not the East and they
quickly returned to the Villa Mehari, stupefied by the
roar of the trams, the cries of the water and chestnut
vendors, all their senses offended by the cafes on the

A BED OF ROSES 349

wharf where sailors from every land drank \-udka,
arrack, pale ale, among zouaves and chasseurs
d'Afrique.

Sometimes Holt would go into Algiers by himself
and remain away all day. Victoria stayed at the
villa careless of flying time, desultoril}- reading Heine
or sitting in the garden where she could play with
the golden and green beetles. Her solitude was
complete, for Holt had avoided the British consul and
of course knew none of the Frenchmen. She watched
the current of her life flow away, content to know
that all the while her little fortune was increasing.
England was so far as to seem in another world.
Christmas was gone and the link of a ten pound note
to Betty, to help to furnish the house at Shepherds'
Bush, had faded away. When she was alone, those
days, she could not throw her mind back to the ugly,
brutish past, so potently was the influence of the East
growing upon her being. Then, in the cool of the
evening. Jack would return gay and anxious to see
her, to throw his arms round her and hold her to
him again. Those were the days when he brought
her some precious offering, aqua-marines set in hand-
wrought gold, or chaplets of strimg pearls.

' Jack,' she said to him one daj- as he lay in the
grass at her feet, ' do you then love me very much ? '

' Very much.' He took her hand and, raising
himself upon his elbow, gravelv kissed it.

'Why?'

' Because you're all the poetry of the world.
Because you make me dream dreams, my Aspasia.'

She gently stroked his dark hair.

' And to think that you are one of the enemy. Jack ! '

' One of the enemy ? what do you mean ? '

' Man is woman's enemy, Jack. Our relation is a
war of sex.'

' It's not true.' Jack flushed ; the idea was repulsive,

* It is true. Man dominates woman by force, by

350 A BED OF ROSES

man-made liuv ; he restricts lier occupations ; lie
limits her chances; he judges of her attire ; he denies
her the right to be ugly, to be old, to be coarse, to
be vicious.'

' But YOU wouldn't — '

' I'd haA'e everything the same. Jack.'

Holt thouglit for a moment.

' Yes, I suppose we do keep them down. But
they're different. You see, men are men and — '

' I know the rest. But never mind, Jack dear,
you're not like the others. You'll never be a
conqueror.'

Then she muzzled him with her hand, and, kissing
its scented palm, he thought no more of the stern
game in which the}'^ were the shuttlecocks.

The spring was touching Europe with its wings and
here ah-eady the summer was bursting the seed pods,
the sap breaking impatiently through the branches.
All the wet warmth of the brief African blooming ran
riot in thickening leaf. The objective of Jack's life
influenced as he was by the air, was Victoria and the
ever more consuming love he bore her ; the minutes
only counted when he was by her side, watching her
every movement, inhaling, touching her. All his
energies seem to have been driven into tliis narrow
channel. He was ready to move or to remain as
Victoria might direct; he spoke little, he basked.
Thus he agreed to extending their stay for a month ;
he agreed to shorten it by a fortnight when Victoria,
suddenly realising that her life force was wasting
away in this enervating atmosphere, decided to go
home.

Victoria's progress to London was like the march of
a conqueror. She stopped in Paris to renew her
clothes. There Jack knew hours of waiting in the
hired victoria while his queen was trying on frocks.
He showed such a childish joy in it all that she in-
dulged her fancy, her every whim ; dresses, wraps, lace

A BED OF ROSES 351

veils, fiirs, hats massive with ostrich feathers, aigrettes,
delicate kid boots, gilt shoes, amassed in their suite.
Jack egged her on ; he rioted too. Often he would
stop the victoria and rush into a shop if he saw some-
thing he liked in the window and, in a few minutes,
retm-n with it, excitedly demanding praise. He did
not seem to understand or care for money, to have
any wants except cigarettes. He followed and, in his
beautiful dog-like eyes devotion daily grew.

They entered London on a bustling April day. A
biting east wind carried rain drops and sunshine. As
it stung her face and whipped her blood, Victoria
found the old fierce soul reincarnating itself in her.
She opened her mouth 'to take in the cold English
air, to bend herself for the finishing of her task.

CHAPTER XVII

It Avas ill London, that the real battle began. In
Algiers the scented winds made hideous and un-
natural all thoughts of gain. On arriA^ng in London
Victoria ascertained with a thrill of pleasure that her
bank had received a thousand pounds since October.
Aiter disposing of a few small debts and renewing
some trifles in the house she found herself a capitalist :
she had about fifteen hundred pounds of her own.
The money was Ijing at the bank and it only
struck her then that the time had come to invest it.
Her interview with the manager of her branch was
a delightful experience ; she was almost bursting with
importance and his courteous appreciation of his
increasingly wealthy client was something more than
balm. It was a foretaste of the power of money.
She had known poor men respected, but not poor
women ; now the bank manager was giving her
respectful attention because she had fifteen hundred
pounds.

' You might buy some industrials,' he said,

' Industrials ? What are they ? '

' Oh, all sorts of things. Cotton mills, iron works,
trading companies, anything.'

' Cement works ? ' she asked with a spark of
devilry.

' Yes, cement works too,' said the manager without
moving a muscle.

' But do 3^ou call them safe ? ' she asked, returning
to business.

A BED OF ROSES 353

' Oh, fairly. Of course tliei'e are l)ad years and
good. But tlie debentures are mostly all right and
some of the prefs.'

Victoria thought for a moment. Reminiscences of
political economj^ told her that there were booms
and slumps.

' Has trade been good lately' ? ' she asked suddenly.

' No, not for the last two years or so. It's picking
up though. . . .'

' All, then we're in for a cj^cle of good trade. I
think I'll have some industrials. You might pick
me out the best.'

The manager seemed a little surprised at this
knowledge of commercial crises but said nothing
more, and made out a list of securities averaging
six per cent net.

' And please buy me a hundred P. R. R. shares,'
added Victoria.

She could have laughed at the manager's stony face
because he did not see the humour of this. He
merely said that he would forward the orders to
a stockbroker.

Victoria felt that she had put her hand to the
plough. She was scoring so heavily that she never
now wished to turn back. Holt was every da}''
growing more dreamy, more absorbed in his thoughts.
He never seemed to quicken into action except when
liis companion touched him. He grew more silent
too ; the hobbledehoy was gone. He was at his
worst when he had received a letter bearing the
Rawsley postmark. Victoria knew of these, for
Holt's need of her grew greater every day ; he was
now living at Elm Tree Place. He hardly left the
house. He got up late and passed the morning in the
boudoir, smoking cigarettes, desultorily reading and
nursing the Pekingese which he now liked better.
But on the days when he got letters from Rawsley,
letters so bulky that they were sometimes insufficiently
z

354 A BED OF ROSES

stamped, he would f^o out early and only return at
niglit. Then, however, he returned as if he had been
running, full of some nameless fear ; he would strain
Victoria to him and hold her very close, burying his
face below the bedclothes as if he were afraid. On one
of those days Victoria accidentally saw him come out of
a small dissenting chapel near by. He did not see
her, for he was walking away like a man possessed ;
she said nothing of this but understood him better,
ha^^ng an inkling that the fight against the Rawsley
tradition was still going on.

She did not, however, allow herself to be moved by
his struggle. It behoved her to hold him, for he was
her last chance and the world looked rosy round her.
As the spring turned into summer he became more
utterly hers.

' You distil poison for me,' he said one day as they
sat by the rose hung pergola.

* No, Jack, don't say that, it's the elixir of life.'

* The elixir of life. Perhaps, but poison too. To
make me live is to make me die, Victoria ; we are
born sickening for death and to hasten the current of
life is to hasten our doom.'

' Live quickly,' she whispered, bending towards
him ; * did you live at all a year ago ? '

' No, no.' His arms were round her and his lips
insistent on hers. He frightened her a little, though.
She would have to take him away. She had already
confided this new trouble to Betty when the latter
came to see her in April, but Betty, beyond suggest-
ing cricket, had been too full of her own affairs.
Apparently these were not going very well. Anderson
& Diomo's had not granted the rise and the marriage
had been postponed. Meanwhile she was still at the
P. R. R., and very, very happy. Betty too, her baby,
her other baby, frightened Victoria a little. She was
so rosy, so pretty now and there was something
defiant and excited about her that might presage

A BED OF ROSES 355

disease. But Betty had not come near lior for tlie
last two months.

About tlie middle of June she took Jack away to
Broadstairs. He was willing to go or stay, just as
she liked. He seemed so neutral that Victoria
experimented upon him by presenting him w^ith
a sheaf of unpaid bills. He looked at them languidly
and said he supposed they must be paid, asked her
to add them up and wrote a cheque for the full
amount. Apparently he had forgotten all about the
allowance or did not care.

Broadstairs seemed to do him good. Except at the
week end the Hotel Sylvester was almost empty. The
sea breeze blew stiffly from the north or the east.
His colour increased and once more he began to
talk. Victoria encouraged him to take long walks
alone along the front. She had some occupation, for
two little girls who were there in charge of a Swiss
governess had adopted the lovely lady as their
aunt. A new sweetness had come into her life,
shrill voices, the clinging of little hands. Some-
times these four would walk together, and Holt
would run with the children, tumbling in the sand
in sheer merriment.

' You seem all right again. Jack,' said Victoria on
the tenth morning.

' Right ! Rather, by jove, it's good to live, Vicky.'

' You w^ere a bit off colour, you know.'

' I suppose I was. But now, I feel nothing can
hold me. I wrote a rondeau this morning on the pier.
Want to see it ? '

' Of com-se. silly boy. Ar-en't you going to be the
next great poet ? '

She read the rondeau, scrawled in pencil on the
back of a bill. It was delicate, a little colourless.

'Lovely,' she said, 'of com-se j^ou'll send it to the
Westviinster.'

'Perhaps . . , hulloa, there are the kiddies.' He

356 A BED OF ROSES

ran oft" down the steps from tlie front. A minute
after Mctoria saw liim helping the elder girl to bury
her little sister in sand.

Victoria felt much reassured. Pie was normal
again, the half wistful, half irresponsible boy she had
once known. He slept Avell, laughed and his crying
need for her seemed to have abated. At the end of
the fortnight A^ictoria Avas debating ■\^dlether she should
take him home. She was in the hotel garden talking
to the smaller girl, telling her a wonderful story
about the fairy who lived in the telephone and said
ping-pong when the line Avas engaged. The little
girl sat upon her knee ; when she laughed Victoria's
heart bounded. The elder girl came through the
gate leading a good-looking young Avoman in white
by the hand.

'Oh, mummie, here's auntie,' cried the child,
dragging her mother up to Victoria. The two
Avomen looked at one another.

' Thej' tell me you have been A^ery kind . . .' said
the woman. Then she stopped abruptly.

' Of course, mummie, she's not really our auntie,'
said the child confidentially.

Victoria put the small girl doAvn. The mother
looked at her again. She seemed so nice and refined
. . . yet her husband said that the initials on the
trunks were different . . . one had to be careful.

' Come here, Celia,' she said sharply. ' Thank
you,' she added to Victoria. Then taking her little
girls by the liand she took them aAvay.

Jack Avillingly left Broadstairs that afternoon AAdien
Victoria explained that she was tired and that
something had made her Ioav spirited.

' Right oh-,' he said. Let's go back to toAvn. I
Avant to see Amershams and find out hoAv those
sonnets haA'e sold.'

He then loft her to wire to Augusta.

Their life in town resumed its former course,

A BED OF ROSES 357

interrupted only by a moiitli in North Devon. Jack's
cure was complete ; he was sunburnt, fatter ; the joy
of life shone in liis blue eyes. Sometimes Victoria
found herself growing younger by contagion, slough-
ing the horrible miry coat of the past. If her heart
had not been atrophied she would have loved the boy
whom she always treated with motherly gentleness.
His need of her was so crying, so total that he lost all
his self-consciousness. He would sit unblushing by
her side in the bow of a fishing smack, holding her
hand and looking raptly into her grey eyes; he was
indifferent to the red brown fishermen with the
Spanish eyes and curly black hair who smiled as the
turtle doves clustered. His need of her was as mental
as it was physical ; his body was wliipped by the salt
air to seek in her arms oblivion, but his mind had
become equally dependent. She was his need.

Thus when they came back to town the riot con-
tinued and Victoria, breasting the London tide,
dragged him unresisting in her rear. She hated
excitement in every form, excitement that is of the
puerile kind. Restaurant dining, horse shows, flower
shows, the Academy, tea in Bond Street, even the
theatre and its most inane successes, were for her
a weariness to the flesh.

' I've had enough,' she said to Jack one day. ' I'm
sick of it all. I've got congestion of the appreciative
sense. One day I shall chuck it all up, go and live
in the country, have big dogs and a saddle horse,
dress in tweeds and read the local agricultural rag.'

' Give up smoking, go to churcli and play tennis
with the curate, the doctor and the squire's flapper,'
added Holt. * But Vickj^, wh}- not go now ? '

'No, oh, no, I can't do that.' She was frightened
by her own suggestion. ' I must drain the cup of
pleasure so as to be sure that it's all pain ; then I'll
retire and drain the cup of resignation . . . unless,
as I sometimes think, it's empty.

35S A BED OF ROSES

Jack had said uotliing to this. Her wilduess
surprised and shocked liim. She was so savage and
yet so sweet.

Victoria realised that she must hold fast to the
town, for there alone could she succeed. In the peace
of the country she would not have the opportunities
she had now. Jack was in her hands. She never
hesitated to ask for monej' and Jack responded without
a word. Her account grew by leaps and bounds.
The cashier began to ask whether she wanted to see
the manager when she called at the bank. She could
see, some way off but clearly, the beacons on the
coast of hope.

All through Jack's moods she had suffered from
the defection of Betty. On her return from Broad-
stairs she had written to her to come to Elm Tree
Place but had received no answer. This happened
again in September and fear took hold of her, for
Betty had, i\'y like, twined herself very closely round
Victoria's heart of oak. She went to Finsbury but
Betty had gone, leaving no address. She went to the
P.R.R. also. The place had become ghostly, for the
familiar faces had gone. The manageress was nowhere
to be seen, nor was Nelly, probably by now a
manageress herself. Betty was not there and the
girl who wonderiugly served the beautiful lady witli
a tea cake said that no girl of that name was eniployed
at the depot. Then Victoria saw herself sitting in
the churchyard of her past, between the two dear
ghosts of Farwell and Bettj^ The customers had
changed, or their faces had receded so that she knew
them no more ; they still played matador and fives
and threes, chess too. Alone the chains remained
which tlie ghosts had rattled. Silently she went
away, turning over that leaf of her life for ever.
Farwell was dead, and Betty gone, married probably
and in Shepherd's Bush, not daring to allow Victoria's
foot to sully the threshold of ' First Words of Love.'

A BED OF ROSES 359

Her conviction that Bettj'' was false had a kind of
tonic effect upon her. She was alone and herself
again ; she realised that the lonely being is the strong
being. Now, at last, she could include the last woman
she had known in the category of those who threw
stones. And her determination to be free grew apace.

She invented a reason every day to extract inoney,
from Holt. He, blindly desirous, careless of money
acquiesced to every fresh demand. Now it was a faked
bill from Barbezan Soeurs for two hundred pounds,
now the rent in arrear, a blue rates notice, an offhand
I'equest for a fiver to pay the servants, the vet's bill
or the price of a cab. Holt drew and overdrew. If
a suspicion ever entered his mind that he was being
exploited he dismissed it at once, telling himself that
Victoria was rather extravagant. For a time letters
from Rawsley synchronised with her fresh demands
but repetition had dulled their effects : now Holt
postponed reading them ; after a time she saw him
throw one into the fire unread. Little by little they
grew rarer. Then they ceased. Holt was eaten up
by his passion and Victoria's star rose high.

All conspired to favour her fortune. Perhaps her
acumen had helped her too, for she had seen correctly
the coming boom. Trade rose by leaps and bounds ;
every day new shops seemed to open ; the stacks of
the Great Central Railway could be seen belching
clouds of smoke as they ground out electric power ;
the letter-box at Elm Tree Place was clogged with
circulars denoting by the fury of their competition
that trade was flying as on a great wind. Other
signs too were not wanting : the main streets of
London were blocked by lorries groaning under
machinery, vegetables, stone ; immense queues formed
at the railway stations waiting for the excursion
trains ; above all, rose the sound of gold as it hissed
and sizzled as if molten on the pavements, flowing
into the pockets of merchants, bankers and share-

i6o A BED OF ROSES

holders. All the women at the Vesuvius indulged in
uevr clothes.

Victoria's investments were seized by the current.
She had not entirely followed the bank manager's
advice. Seeing, feeling the movement, she had
realised most of her debentures and turned them into
shares. One of her ventures collapsed but the
remainder appreciated to an extraordinaiy extent. At
last, in the waning days of the year her middle-class
prudence reasserted itself. She knew enough of
political economy to be read}' for the crash ; she
realised. One cold morning in November she counted
up her spoils. She had nearly five thousand pounds.

Meanwhile, while her blood was aglow. Holt sank
further into the didlness of his senses. A mania was
upon him. Waking, his thought was Victoria and
the ciy for her rose everlasting from his racked body.
She was all, she was everywhere, and the desire for
her, for her beauty, her red lips, soaked into him like
a philtre, narcotic and then fiery but ever present,
intimate and exacting. He was her thing, her toy,
the paltry instrument which responded to her every
touch. He rejoiced in his subjection ; he swam in
his passion like a pilgrim in the Ganges to find brief
oblivion ; but again the thirst was on him, ravaging,
ever demanding more. ]\Iore, more, ever more, in
the watches of the night, Avlien ice seizes the world
to throttle it, among all, in turmoil and in peace, he
tossed upon the passionate seaj with one thought,
one hope.

CHAPTER XVIII

' I'm glad we're going away Jack ' said A^ictoria lean-
ing back in tlie cab and looking at him critically.
' Yoii look as if you wanted a change.'

' Perhaps I do,' said Jack.

Victoria looked at him again. He had not smiled
as he spoke to her, which was unusual. He seemed
thinner and more delicate than ever, with his pale
face and pink cheekbones. His black hair shone as
if moist and his eyes were bigger than they had ever
been, blue like silent pools and surrounded by a
mauve zone. His mouth hung a little open. Yet, in
spite of his weariness, he held her wrist in both his
hands and she could feel his fingers searching for
the opening in her glove.

' You are becoming a responsibility,' she said
smiling. ' I shall have to be a mother to you.'

A faint smile came over his lips.

'A mother? After all, why not? Phedra. . . .'
His eyes fixed on the grey morning sky as he followed
his thought.

The horse was trotting sharply. The winter air
seemed to rush into their bodies. Jack, well ■^ATapped
up as he was in a fur coat, shrank back against the
wami roundness of her shoidder. In an access of
gentleness she put her free hand on his,

' Dear boy,' she said softly bending over him.

But there was no tenderness in Jack's blue eyes,
rather lambent fire. At once his grasp on her hand
tightened and his lips mutely formed into a request.

361

362 A BED OF ROSES

Casting a glance right and left she kissed him quickly
on the mouth.

Up on the roof their bags jolted and bumped one
another ; milk carts were rattling their empty cans
as they returned from their round ; far away a drum
and fife band played an acid air. They were going
to Ventnor in pursuit of the blanketed sun and Victoria
rejoiced, as they passed through Piccadilly Circus
where moisture settled black on the fountain, to think
that for tkree days she would see the sun radiate, not
loom as a red guinea. They passed over Waterloo
Bridge at a foot pace ; the enormous morning traffic
was struggling in the neck of the bottle. The pressure
was increased because the road was up between it and
Waterloo Station. On her left, over the parajjet,
Victoria could see the immense desert of the Thames
swathed in thin mist, whence emerged in places masts
and where massive barges loomed passive like
derelicts. She wondered for a moment whether her
familiar symbol, the old vagrant, still sat crouching
against the parapet at Westminster, watching rare
puffs of smoke curling from his pipe into the cold air.
The cab emerged from the crush and, to avoid it, the
cabman turned into the little black streets which line
the wharf on the east side of the bridge, then doubled
back towards Waterloo through Cornwall Road.
There they met again the stream of drays and carts ;
the horse went at a foot pace and Victoria gazed at
the black rows of houses with the fear of a lost one.
So unifonnly ugly these apartment houses, with their
dirty curtains, their unspeakable flowerpots in the
parlour windows. Here and there cards announcing
that they did pinking within ; further, the board of a
sweep ; then a good corner house, the doctor's probably,
with four steps and a brass knocker and a tall slim
girl on her hands and knees washing the steps.

The calj came to an abrupt stop. Some distance
ahead a horse was down on the slipperj'^ road ; shouts

A BED OF ROSES 363

came from the crowd around it. Victoria idly
watched the girl, swinging the wet rag from right to
left. Poor thing. Everything in her seemed to cry out
against the torture of womanhood. She w^as a picture
of dumb resignation as she knelt with her hack to
the road. Victoria coidd see her long thin arms, her
hands red and i-igid with cold, her broken down shoes
with the punctured soles emerging from the ragged
black petticoat.

There was a little surge in the crowd. The girl
got up and, with an air of infinite weariness, stretched
her arms. Then she picked up the pail and bucket
and turned towards the street. For the space of
a second the t\vo women looked into one another's
faces. Then Victoria gave a muffled cry and jumped
out of the cab. She seized with both hands the
girl's bare arms.

' Betty, Betty,' she faltered.

A burning blush covered the girl's face and her
features twitched. She made as if to turn away from
the detaining hands.

'Vicky, what are you doing . . . what does this
mean ? ' came Jack's voice from the cab.

' Wait a minute, Jack. Betty, my poor little Betty.
Why are you here ? Why haven' t you written to me ? '

' Leave me alone,' said Betty hoarsely.

' I won't leave you alone. Betty, tell me, what's
this ? Ai-e you married ? '

A look of pain came over the girl's face, but she
said nothing.

' Look here, Betty, we can't talk here. Leave the
bucket, come with me. I'll see it's all right.'

' Oh, I can't do that. Oh, let me alone ; it's too
late.'

' I don't understand you. It's never too late. Now
just get into the cab and come with me.'

'I can't. I must give notice . . .' She looked
about to weep.

364 A BED OF ROSES

' Come along.' Victoria increased the pressure on
the girl's arms. Jack stood up in the cab. He
seemed as fi-ightened as he was surprised.

' I say, Vicky . . .' he began.

' Sit down, Jack, she's coming with us. You don't
mind if we don't go to Ventnor?'

Jack's eyes opened in astonishment but he made no
reply. Victoria pulled Betty sharply down the steps.

* Oh, let me get my things,' she said weakly.

' No. They'd stop you. There, get in. Dri^-e
back to Elm Tree Place, cabman.'

Half an hour later, lying at full length on the
boudoir sofa, Betty was slowly sipping some hot
cocoa. There was a smile on her tear stained face.
Victoria was analysing with horror the ravages that
sorrow had wrought on her. She was pretty still,
with her china blue eyes and her hair like pale filigree
gold, but the bones seemed to start from her red
wrists, so thin had she become. Even the smile of
exhausted content on her lips did not redeem her
emaciated cheeks.

' Betty, my poor Betty,' said Victoria, taking her
hand. ' What have they done to you ? '

The girl looked up at the ceiling as if in a dream.

' Tell me all about it,' her friend Avent on, ' what
has happened to you since April ? '

* Oh, lots of things, lots of things. I've had a hard
time.'

' Yes, I see. But what happened actually ? Why
did you leave the P.R.R. ? '

'I had to. You see, Edward . . .' The flush returned.

'Yes?'

' Oh, Vic, I've been a bad girl and I'm so, so
unhappy.' Betty seized her friend's hand to raise
herself and buried her face on her breast. There
Victoria let her sob, gently stroking the golden hair.
She understood alrearly, but Betty must not be
questioned yet. Little by little, Betty's weeping

A BED OF ROSES 365

grew less violent and confidence burst from her
pent up soul.

' He didn't get a rise at Christmas, so he said we'd
have to wait ... I couldn't bear it ... it wasn't
his fault. I couldn't let him come down in the
world, a gentleman ... he only had thirty shillings
a week.'

' Yes, yes, poor little girl.'

' We never meant to do wrong . . , when liaby Avas
coming he said he'd marry me ... I couldn't drag
him down ... I ran away.'

' Betty, Betty, why didn't you write to me? '

Tlie girl looked at her. She was beautiful in her
reminiscence of sacrifice.

'I was ashamed ... I didn't dare ... I only
Avanted to go where they didn't know what I was. . . .
I was mad. The baby came too early and it died
almost at once.'

' My poor little girl.' Victoria softly stroked the
rough back of her hand.

' Oh, I wasn't sorry ... it was a little girl . . .
they don't want any more in the world. Besides
I didn't care for anything ; I'd lost him . . . and ni}'-
job. I couldn't go back. My landlady wrote me
a character to go to Cornwall road.'

' And there I found you.'

' I wonder what we are going to do for you,' she
went on. ' Where is Edward now ? '

' Oh, I couldn't go back ; I'm ashamed. . . .'

'Nonsense, you haven't done anything wrong. He
shall marry you.'

' He would have,' said Betty a little coldlj^ * he's
square.'

' Yes, I know. He didn't beg you very hard, did
he? However, never mind. I'm not going to let
you go until I've made you happy. Now I'll tuck
you up with a rug and you're going to sleep before
the fire.'

366 A BED OF ROSES

Betty lay limp and unresisting in the ministering
hands. The unwonted sensations of comfort, warmth
and peace soothed her to sleepiness. Besides she felt
as if she had wept eveiy tear in her racked body.
Soon her features relaxed, and she sank into profound,
almost deathlike slumber.

Victoria meanwbile told her story to Jack, who sat
in the dining-room reading a novel and smoking
cigarettes. He came out of his coma as Victoria
unfolded the tale of Betty's upbringing, her struggle
to live, then love the meteor flashing through her
horizon. His cheeks flushed and his mouth quivered
as Victoria painted for him the picture of the girl
half distraught, bearing the burden of her shame,
unable to reason or to foresee, to think of anything
except the saving of a gentleman from life on thirty
bob a week.

' Something ought to be done,' he said at length,
closing his book with novel vivacity.

'Yes, but what?'

* I don't know.' His eyes questioned the wall ;
they grew vaguer and vaguer as his excitement
decreased, as a ship in dock sinks further and
further on her side while the water ebbs away.

'You think of something,' he said at length,
picking up his book again. 'I don't care what
it costs.'

Victoria left him and went for a walk through the
misty streets seeking a solution. There were not
many. She could not keep Betty with her, for she
was pure though betrayed ; contact with the irregular
would degrade her because habit would induce her
to condone that which she morally condemned. It
would spoil her and would ultimately throw her into
a life for which she was not fitted because gentle
and unspoiled.

'No,' mused Victoria as she walked, 'like most
women she cannot rule : a man must rule her. She

A BED OF ROSES 367

is a reed, not an oak. All must come fioin mau,
both good and evil. Wliat man has done man
must undo.'

By the time she returned to Elm Tiee Place she
had made up her mind. There was no hope for
Betty except in marriage. She must have her own
fireside, and, from what she had said, her lover was
no villain ; he was weak probably, and, while he
strove to detemiine his line of conduct, events had
slipped beyond his control. Perhaps, though, it was
not fair to deliver Betty into his hands bound and
defenceless, bearing the burden of their common
imprudence. She was not fit to be free, but she
should not be a slave. It might be well to be the
slave of the strong, but not of the weak.

Therefore Victoria arrived at a definite solution.
She would see the young man, and if it was not
altogether out of the question, he should marry Betty.
They should have the little house at Shepherd's Bush,
and Betty should be made a free woman with a
fortune of five hundred pounds in her own right,
enough to place her for ever beyond sheer want. It
only struck Victoria later that she need not, out of
quixotic generosity, deplete her owti store, for Holt
would gladly gi^^e whatever sum she named.

' Now Betty,' she said as the girl drained the glass
of claret which accompanied the piece of fowl that
composed her lunch, ' tell me jonr young man's name,
and Anderson & Dromo's address. I'm going to see
him.'

'Oh, no, no, don't do that.' The look of fear
returned to the blue eyes.

' No use, Betty, I've decided you're going to be
happy. I shall see him to-day at six, bring him
here to-morrow at half past two, as it happens to be
Saturday. You will be married about the thirtieth
of this month.'

' Oh, Vic, don't make me think of it. I can't do

368 A BED OF ROSES

it . . . it's no good now. Perhaps he's forgotten me,
and it's better for him.'

' I don't think he's forgotten you,' said Victoria.
'He'll marry j^ou this month, and you'll eat your
Cliristmas dinner at Shepherd's Bush. Don't be shy
dear, you're not going empty handed ; you're going
to have a dowry of five hundred poimds.'

'Vie! I can't take it ; it isn't right . . . j^ouneed
all you've got . . . you're so good, but I don't want
him to marr}' me if . . . if. . . .'

' Oh, don't worrj^ I shan't tell him about the money
until he says yes. Now, no thanks, you're my baby,
besides it's going to be a present fi-om Mr Holt.
Silence.' she repeated as Betty opened her mouth, 'or
rather give me his name and address and not another
word.'

' Edward Smith,' Salisbury House, but. . . .'

* Enough. Now, dear, don't get up.'

The events of that Friday and Saturday formed in
later days one of the sunbathed memories in Victoria'a
dreary life. It was all so gentle, so full of sweetness
and irresolute generosity. She remembered every-
thing, the wait in the little dark room into which she
was ushered by an amazed commissionaire who pro-
fessed himself willing to break regulations for her
sake and hand Mr Smith a note, the banging of
her heart as she realised her responsibility and
resolved to break her word if necessary and to buy
a husband for Betty rather than lose him, then the
c^uick interview, the light upon the young man's face.

' Where is she ? ' he asked excitedly. ' Oh, why
did she run away. You can't think what I've been
going througli.'

' You should have married her,' said Victoria coldly,
though she was moved bj^ his sincerity. He was
handsome, this young man, with his bronzed face,
dark eyes, regular features and long dark hair.

' Oh, I would have at once if I'd known. But I

^

A BED OF ROSES 369

couldn't make up mj' mind ; only thirty bob a
week. . . .'

' Yes, I know,' said Victoria softlv, ' I used to be
at the P. R. R;

' You ? ' The young man looked at her incredulously .

' Yes, but never mind me. It's Betty I've come for.
The baby is dead. I found her cleaning the steps of
a house near Waterloo.'

' My God,' said the young man in low tones. He
clenched his hands together; one of his paper cuff
protectors fell to the floor.

' Will you marry her now ? '

' Yes . . . at once.'

' Good. She's had a hard time, Mr Smith and I
don't say it's entirely your fault. Now it's all going
to be put square. I'm going to see she has some
money of her own, five hundred pounds. That will
help won't it ? '

' Oh, it's too good to be true. Whj'- are you doing
all this for us? You're. . . .'

' Please, please, no thanks. I'm Betty's friend .
Let that be enough. Will you come and see her
to-morrow at my house ? Here's my card.'

On the last day of November these two were man-ied
at a registry office in the presence of Victoria and the
registrar's clerk. A new joy had settled upon Betty
whose shy prettiness was t^^rning int(j beauty.
Victoria's heart was heavy as she looked at the couple,
both so 5''oung and rapt, setting out upon the sea
with a cargo of glowing dreams. It was heavn,' still
as the cab drove off carrying them away for a brief
week-end, which was all Anderson and Dromo would
allow. She tasted a new delight in this making of
happiness.

Holt had not attended the ceremony for he felt too

weak. His interest in the affair had been dim, for

he looked upon it as one of Victoria's whims. He was

ceasing to judge as he ceased to appreciate, so much

2 A

370 A BED OF ROSES

was liis physical weakness gaining upon liim ; all his
faculty of action was concentrated in the desire which
gnawed at his very being. Victoria reminded him of
his promise and, finding his cheque book for him,
laid it on the table.

'Five hundred pounds,' she said. ' Better make it
out to me. It's very good of you, Jack.'

* Yes, yes,' he said dully, writing the date and the
words ' Mrs Ferris.' Then he stopped. Concentrating
with an effort he wrote the word ' five.'

* Five . . . five . . .' he murnnired. Then he
looked up at Victoria with something like vacuousness.

A wild idea flashed through her brain. She must
act. Oh, no, dreadful. Yet freedom, freedom. . . .
He could not understand . . . she must do it.

' Thousand,' she prompted in a low voice.

' Thousand pounds,' went Jack's voice as he wrote
obediently. Then, mechanically, reciting the formula
his father had taught him : ' Five, comma, 0, 0, 0,
dash, 0, dash, 0. John Holt.

Victoria put her hands down on the table to take
the cheque he had just torn out. All her fingers
were trembling with the terrible excitement of a
slave watching his fetters being struck off. As she
took it up and looked at it, while the figures danced.
Holt's eyes grew more insistent on her other hand.
Slowly his fingers closed over it, raised it to his lips.
With his eyes closed, breathing a little deeper, he
covered her palm with lingering kisses.

CHAPTER XIX

The endowment of Betty was soon completed.
Advised by the bank man anger to whom she con-
fided something of the young couple's improvident
tendencies, Victoria vested the money in a trust
administered by an insurance compan3\ The deed
was so drafted that it could not be charged ; the
capital could not be touched, excepting the case of
male offspring who, after their mother's death, would
divide it on their respective twenty-fifth birthdays ;
as she distrusted her own sex and perhaps still more
the stock from which the girls might spring, she
bound their proportion in perpetuity ; failing off-
spring she provided that, following on his wife's
decease, Mr Edward Smith should receive one fifth of
the capital, four fifths reverting to herself.

Victoria revelled somewhat in the technicalities of
the deed ; every clause she framed was a pleasure in
itself ; she turned the ' hereinbefores ' and the ' pre-
decease as aforesaids ' round in her mouth as if they
were luscious sweets. The pleasure of it was not
that of Lady Bountiful showering blessings and feel-
ing the holj' glow of charity penetrate her being.
Victoria's satisfaction was more vixenish ; she, the
outlaw, the outcast, had wrested from Society enough
money to indulge in the luxury of promoting a
marriage, converting the illegal into the legal, creating
respectability. The gains that Society term infamous
were being turned towards the support of that Society ;
still more, failing her infamous help, Betty and

372 A BED OF ROSES

Eilward Sniitli would not have achieved their coming
together with the approval of the Law, their spiritual
regeneration and a house at Shepherd's Bush.

Slie was now the mistress of a fortune of over ten
thousand pounds, a good half of which was due to
her final stratagem. The time had now come for her
to retire to the house in the country when she could
resume her own name, piece together for the sake of
the county her career since she left India for Alabama,
and read the local agricultural rag. Her plans were
postponed, however, owing to Holt's state of health,
which compelled her, out of sheer humanity, to take
liim to a sunnier clime. She dismissed Algiers as
Ijeing too far ; she asked Holt where he would like to
go to, but he merely replied ' East Coast,' which in
December struck her as being absurd. Finally she
decided to take him to Folkestone as it was very near
and he would doubtless like to sit with the dogs on
the Leas.

Folkestone was bright and sunny. The sting in
the glowing air brought fresh colour to Victoria's
cheeks, a deeper brilliancy to her grey eyes ; she felt
well ; her back was straighter ; when a lock of dark
hair strayed into her mouth driven by the high wind
it tasted salt on her lips. Sometimes she could have
leaped, shouted, for life was rusliing in upon her
like a tide. Most daj^s, however, she was quiet, for
Holt was not affected by the sea. His listlessness was
now such that he hardly spoke. He would walk by
her side vacuously, looking at his surroundings as if
he did not see 'them. At times he stopped, con-
centrated with an effort and bought a bun from a
hawker to break up for the dogs.

Victoria noticed that he was slipping with ununder-
Btanding fear. The phenomenon was beyond her.
Though tlie guests at tlie hotel surrounded her with
an atmosphere of admiration Holt's condition began
to occupy all her thoughts. He was thin now to the

A BED OF ROSES 373

point of showing bone under his coat, pale and hectic,
gejierally listless, sometimes wild eyed. He never
read, played no games, talked to nobody. Indeed
nothing remained of him save the half pliysical, half
emotional power of his passion. Victoria called in a
doctor bnt fonnd him vagrie and shy ; bej^ond cutting
down Holt's cigarettes he prescribed nothing.

Victoria resigned herself to tlie role of a nm-se. At
the beginning of January she noticed that Holt was
using a stick to walk. The sight fdled her with
dread. She watched him on the Leas, walking
slowly, resting the weight of his body on the staff,
stopping now and then to look at the sea, or worse,
at a blank wall. A terrible impression of weakness
emanated fi-om him. He was going dovm the hill.
One morning in the middle of Januar}', Holt did not
get up. ^^^len questioned he hardly answered. She
dressed feverishJy without his moving, and went out
to find the doctor herself, for she was unconsciously
afraid of the servants' eyes. When she returned with
the doctor Holt had not moved ; his head was thrown
back, his mouth a little open, his face more waxen
than usual.

* Oh, oh. . . .' Victoria nearly screamed, when
Holt opened his eyes. The doctor threw back the bed-
clothes and examined his patient. As Victoria
watched him inspecting Holt's mouth, the inside of
his eyelids, then his finger nails, a terror came upon
her at these strange rites. She went to the window
and looked out over the sea ; it was choppy, grey and
foamy like a river in spate. She strove to concentrate
on her freedom, but she could feel the figure on the
bed.

' Got anv sal volatile ? ' said the doctor's voice.

' No, shall I. . . . ? '

' No, no time for that, he's fainting ; get me some
salts, ammonia, anything.'

Victoria watched him forcing Holt to breathe the

374 A BED OF ROSES

ammonia she used to clean ribbons. Holt opened
his eyes, coughed, struggled ; tears ran down his face
as he inhaled the acrid £nmes. Still he did not siDcak.
The doctor pulled him out of bed, crossed his legs,
and then struck him sharply across the shin, just
under the knee, with the side of his hand. Holt's
leg hardly moved. The doctor hesitated for a
moment, then pushed him back into the bed.

'I . . . Mrs. . . .?

'Holt.'

' Well, ]\Irs Holt, I'm afraid your husband is in
a serious condition. Of course I don't say that with
careful feeding, tonics, we can't get him round, but
it'll be a long business, and . . , and . . . you
see. . . . How long have you been married ? '

' Over a year,' said Victoria with an effort.'

' Ah. Well Mrs Holt, it will be part of the cure
that you leave him for six months.'

Victoria gasped. Why? Why? Could it
be. . . . ? The thought appalled her. Dimly she
could hear the doctor talking.

'His mother ... if he has one . . . to-day . . .
phosphate of. . . .'

Then the doctor was gone. A telegram had
somehow been sent to Rawsley Cement Works. Then
the long day, food produced on the initiative of the
hotel servants, the room growing darker, night.

It was ten o'clock, and two women stood face to
face by the bed. One was Victoria, beautiful like
a marble statue, with raven black hair, pale lips.
The other a short stout figure with tight hair, a black
bonnet, a red face stained with tears.

'You've killed him,' said the harsh voice.

Victoria looked up at Mrs Holt.

' No, no.'

'My boy, my poor boy.' Mrs Holt was on her
knees by the side of the motionless figure.

Victoria began to weep, silently at first, then

A BED OF ROSES 375

noisily. Mrs Holt started at the sound, then jumped
to her feet with a cry of rage.

'Stop that crying,' she commanded. 'How dare
you ? How dare you ? '

Victoria went on crying, the sobs choking her.

'A murderess,' Mrs Holt went on. ' You took my
boy away ; you corrupted him, ruined him, killed
him. You're a vile thing ; nobody should touch
you, you. . . .'

Victoria pulled herself together.

' It's not my fault,' she stumbled. ' I didn't know.'

' Didn't know,' sneered Mrs Holt, ' as if a woman of
your class didn't know.'

' That's enough,' snarled Victoria. ' I've had
enough. Understand? I didn't want your son. He
wanted me. That's all over. He bought me and
now you think the price too heavy. I've been heaven
to iiim who only knew misery. He's not to be pitied,
unless it be because his mistress hands him over to
his mother.'

' How dare you ? ' cried Mrs Holt again, a break
in her voice as she pitied her outraged motherhood.

'It's you who've killed him, you, the family,
Rawsley, Bethlehem, your moral laws, your religion.
It's you who starved him, ground him down until he
lost all sense of measure, desired nothing but love
and life.'

' Y''ou killed him though,' said the mother.

' Perhaps. I didn't want to. I was . . . fond of
him. But how can I help it. And supposing I did ?
What of it ? Yes, what of it ? Who was your son
but a man ? '

' My son ! '

' Yom- son. A distinction, not a title. Your son
bears part of the responsibility of making me what
I am. He came last but he might have come first
and I tell you that the worker of the eleventh hour
is guilty equally with the worker of the first. Your

376 A BED OF ROSES

Bon was nothing and I nothing but pawns in the
ganie, little figures which the Society joure so proud
of shifts and breaks. He bought my womanhood ;
he contributed to my degradation. What else but
degradation did you offer me? '

Mrs Holt was weeping now.

' I am a woman and the world has no use for me.
Your Society taught me nothing. Or rather it taught
me to dance, to speak a foreign language badly, to
make myself an ornament, a pleasure to man. Then
it threw me down fi-oni my pedestal, knowing nothing,
without a profession, a trade, a friend, or a penny.
And then your Society waved before my eyes the lily
white banner of purity, while it led me and treated
me like a dog. When I gave it what it wanted, for
there's only one thing it wants from a woman whom
notliing has been taught but that which every woman
knows, then it covered me with gifts. A curse on
your Society. A Society of men , crusliing, grinding
down women, sweating their labour, starving their
brains, urging them on to the suiTender of what
makes a woman worth while. Ah . . . ah. . . .'

Breath failed her. Mrs Holt was weeping silently
in her hands in utter abandonment.

'I'm going,' said Victoria hoarsely. She picked
up a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

As she opened the door the figure moved on the
bed, opened its eyes. Their last lingering look was
for the woman at the door.

CHAPTER XX

The squire of Cumbeiieigli was not sorry that ' The
Retreat' had found a tenant at last. The house
belonged to him and he might have let it manr
times over, but so conservative and aristocratic was
his disposition that he preferred to sacrifice his rent
rather than have anyone who was undesirable in the
neighbourhood. Yet, in the case of the lady who
had now occupied the house for some three weeks,
though the strictest enquiries had been made con-
cerning her, both in Cumberleigh and the surrounding-
district, nothing could be ascertained beyond the
scanty facts that she was a widow, well-to-do and
had been abroad a good deal. The squire had seen
her on two separate occasions himself and could not
but admit that she was far from unprepossessing ;
she was obviously a lady, well-bred and educated,
and, if her frock and hat had been a trifle smarter
than those usually seen in a country village, she had
owned up to having recently been to Paris to replenish
her wardrobe. It was curious, when he came to reflect
upon it, how little she had told him about herself, and
yet, what was more curious, she had no sooner left
liim after the second visit than he had betaken
himseK to his solicitor to get him to make out the
lease. She had received and signed it- the following
day, showing herself remarkably business-like, but
not ungenerous when it came to the, buying of the
fixtures and to the vexed question of outdoor and
indoor repairs.

378 A BED OF ROSES

As the squire climbed the hill that gave ujjon the
village fi-om the marshes one cold March evening he
did not regret his decision, for, standing in front of
' The Retreat,' he felt bound to admit that there was
something cheering and enlivening in the fact that
the fom- front windows now flaunted red curtains
and holland blinds, where they had been so dark and
forbidding. In the lower one on the left, where the
lamps had not yet been lighted or the blinds drawn
down, in the light of the dancing fire, he could see
distinctly a woman's workbox on a small inlaid table,
a volume of songs on the cottage piano and, at the
back of the room, a hint of china tea cups, glistening
silver and white napery. Presently a trim maid came
out to bolt the front door, followed by two snuffling
yellow dogs who took the air for a few moments in
tempestuous spirits, biting each other about the
neck and ears and rushing round in giddy circles on
the tiny grass plot until, in response to a call from the
maid, they returned with her to the house. They
were foreigners evidently these dogs ! The squire
could not remember the name of the breed but he
thought he had seen one of the kind before in London.
He was not quite sure he approved of foreign dogs ;
they were not so sporting or reliable as those of the
English breeds ; still these were handsome fellows,
well kept and from the green rilibons that adorned
their fluffy necks evidently made much of. He was
still looking after the dogs when he was joined by the
curate coming out of the blacksmith's cottage opposite
and stopping to light a match in the shelter of the
high wall of ' The Retreat.'

* First pipe I have had to-day,' said the new-comer
as he puffed at it luxuriously. ' It's more than you
can say, squire, I'll be bound.'

' Twenty-first, that's more like it,' said the squire
with a laugh. ' How is ^Irs Johnson ? ' This in
allusion to the curate's call at the smithy.

A BED OF ROSES 379

' Dying. Won't last the niglit out, I think. She is
quite unconscious. Still I am glad I went. Johnson
and his daughters seemed to like to have me there,
though of course there was nothing for me to do.'

' Quite so, quite so,' said the squire approvingly,
for the village was so small that he took a paternal
interest in all its inhabitants. ' Any more news? '

' ^Irs Goliglitly has had twins, and young Sliaw has
enlisted. That's about all, I think. Oh, by the by,
I paid a call here to-day.' And he indicated ' The
Retreat.' ' It seemed about time you know, and one
mustn't neglect the new-comers.'

' Of course not,' the squire assented with conviction.
* Was she . . . did she in any way indicate that
she was pleased to see you ? '

' She was very gTacious, but she seemed to take my
call quite as a matter of course. A nice woman I
should think, though a little reserved. However she
is going to rent one seat in church if not more, and
she said I might put her name down for one or two
little things I am interested in at present.'

' In fact you made hay while the sun shone. Well,
after all, whj- not? She didn't tell you anything"^
about herself I suppose, or her connections ? '

' No, she never mentioned them. I understood or
she inferred she had been abroad a good deal and that
her husband had died some years ago. Still I really
don't think we need worry about her ; the whole
thing, if I ma}' say so, was so obviously all right, the
house I mean and all its appointments. She is a
C[uiet woman, a little shy and retiring perhaps,
belongs to the old-fashioned school.'

' Well she is none the worse for that,' said the
squire with a grmit. ' We don't meet many of that
kind nowadaj's. Ea'cu the farmers' daughters are
quite ready to set you right whenever they get a
chance. This modern education is a curse, I have
said so from the very beginning. Still they haven't

3So A BED OF ROSES

robbed \is of onr Clinrch schools yet, if that is any
consolation. Coming back to dine with me to-nicrht,
Seaton ? '

The young man shook his head. ' Very sorry,
squire, it's quite impossible to-night. It is Friday
night, choir practice you know, and there is a
lantern lectiu'e in the mission hall. I ought to be
there already helping Griffin ^vith the slides.'

' All right, Sunday evening then, at the usual time,'
said the squire cordially as the curate left him, and,
as he looked after him, he criticised him as a busy
fellow, not likely to set the Thames on fire perhaps,
but essentially the right man in the right place.

His own progress was a good deal slower, not that
he found the hill too steep for, in spite of his fifty
years, he was still perfectly sound of wind and limb,
as was shown by his atliJetic movements, the fi-esh
healthy colour on his cheeks and the clear blue of his
eyes, but rather because he seemed loth to tear himself
away from * The Retreat ' and his new tenant. Even
when he had reached the little post office that crowned
the summit he did not turn off towards his own place
till he had spent another five minutes contemplating
the stack of chimney pots sending out thick puffs of
white smoke into the quiet evening sky, and listening
atteiitively to the cheerful sound of a tinkling piano
blended with the gentle lowing of the cattle on the
marsh below. After all, he told himself, he was very
glad Seaton had called, for apart from liis duty as a
clergj'man, it was only a kind and neigjibourly thing
to do.

It was a pity that there were not more of his kind
in the neighbourhood, for in spite of his own
preference for the country, he could imagine that
a woman coming to it fresh fi'om London at such
a season might find it dull and a little depressing.
He wondered if Mrs Menzies, of Hither Hall, would
call if he asked her to do so. Of course she would in

A BED OF ROSES 381

a moment if lie put it on personal grounds, but tiiat
was not the point. All he wished was to be kind
and hospitable to a stranger, and ]\Irs Menzies, much
as he respected and admired her, had never been
known to err on the side of tolerance, nor did one
meet in lier drawing-room anj-one whose pedigree
would not bear a thorough investigation. Yes, there
was no doubt about it, though the laws that
governed social intercourse were on the whole
excellent and had to be kept, there were here, as
everywhere else in life, exceptions to the rule,
occasions when anyone of a kindly disposition must
feel tempted to break them. xVnd Mrs Menzies was
certainly a little stiff : witness her behaviour in the
case of Captain Clinton's widow and the fuss she
had made because the mifortunate lady had forgotten
to .tell her of her relationship to the Eglinton Clintons
and had only vouchsafed the fact that her father's
people had been in trade. Why, it had taken weeks
if not months, to clear the matter up and it had been
veiy awkward for everybody, the Eglinton Clintons
included, when the truth had transpired. No, on
second thoughts he would not ask Mrs Menzies to call ;
he would far rather make the first ventm-e himself than
risk a snub for this lonely defenceless stranger.

He tm-ned into the gates of Redland Hall with a
half formed intention of doing so immediately. He
dined alone as usual ; it was very rare that the
dining-room of Redland Hall extended its hospitality
to anybody nowadays, for the squire, like most men
over forty, had lost the habit of entertaining and
did not know how to recover it. A bachelor friend
spent a night with liim fi'om time to time, the curate
supped with him every Sunday, and his sister came
for a week or two during the sununer, when she
invariably told him that the house was too imcomfort-
able to live in, and he ought to have it thoroughly
done up and modernised. He invariably promised

3S2 A BED OF ROSES

to set about it immediately, with the full intention
of doing so, but his resolntion began to weaken the
day on which he saw her off at the station and
degenerated steadily for the remainder of the year.
That night, however, for the first time for many
months he made a voyage of discovery into his own
draAving-room. Yes, there was no doubt about it,
Selina was qiiite right in calling it draught}'- and
nncomfortable ; the gilt French fiu-niture was shabby
and tarnished, the Aubnsson carpet worn, the wall
paper faded, the whole room desolate in its suggestion
of past glory. He crossed over to the enormous grand
piano, opened it and struck a yellow key gently with
one finger. Was he wrong, he wondered, in thinking its
tone was lamentably thin and poor ? A rat scampered
and squeaked in the waincoting, the windows rattled
in their loose sashes ; he shut the piano abruptly and
left the room. It would cost a good deal to have
it thoroughly done np of course, but that was not
the point. Who would superintend the decorations?
He did not trust his own taste and had no faith
in that of any upholsterer. Selina would come and
lielp him if he asked her, though she would think it
strange, for she had paid her annual visit in August,
and it was now only March ; besides, if she brought
her delicate little girls with her at such a time the
whole house would be upset in arranging for their
comfort. Still Selina or no, lie had quite made up
his mind to have the room done up and to buy a
new piano immediately ; it was ridiculous to harbour
an instrument which was merely a nesting place for
mice. He returned to the dining-room, poured
himself out a stiff whisky and soda and dozed over
his Spectator for the rest of the evening. Yet, next
morning, even in the unromantic light of day, he
was surprised to find that his plan of doing up the
drawing-room still held good.

He had intended to ride into Wetherton that day

A BED OF ROSES 383

to try liis new mare across country, for the gates
were high in that direction and good enough
to test her powers as a jumper. A glance at the
glistening frost on the grass soon sufhced, however,
to tell him that this scheme could not be carried out,
nor was he sorry until, having spent the morning
on his farms and inspected everything and everybody
at his leisure, it occurred to him with a desperate
sense of conviction that there was still the afternoon
to be fdled in somehow. About three he set off in
the direction of the village, looked in at the church
and had a brief colloquy with Seaton regarding the
new pews which were being put up, interviewed the
j)Ostmaster, condoled with the blacksmith upon the
death of his wife, and even ventured down as far as
the marsh to see if the new carrier who had taken
the place of old Dick Tomlinson was likely to fulfil
his duties properly. About four o'clock he found
himself once more opposite ' The Retreat.' It was
on the main road certainly, but it was only recently
that he had become aware of its importance in the
landscape. One could not get to the marsh or come
back from it without passing it. The windows
looked as trim as ever, trimmer perhaps, for short
muslin curtains interspaced with embroidery seemed
to have sprung up in the night. They were very
decorative in their way ; at the same time they quite
shut out all prospect of the interior, and there was no
workbox, piano, or suggestion of tea things to be
seen to-day. The foreign dogs were snuffling in the
garden as he passed the second time, and one of them
nosed its way through the iron gate and ventured a
few yards down the road, but just as the squire had
made up his mind it was his duty to take it back, it
returned of its own accord. He watched the trim
maid come out and call them as she had done the
day before and saw them rush after her frolicking
round her skirt.

384 A BED OF ROSES

Suddenly he crossed the road, looked up and down
to make sure there was no acquaintance within sight,
opened the iron gate of ' The Retreat,' and passed up
the gravel pathway into the porch.

' Mrs Fulton is at home,' said the trim maid
demurely in answer to his question.

p. PALMER, LONDON

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

Los Angeles
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.

UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY

illllll!

M\ 000 372 891 2

PR

6013
a29b
loil

•';?